#there isn’t some deeper story lying underneath

[reyesranch]

.

[springtyme]

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐝 ♡

Spencer being a fish dad is so important and special to me.

Spencer Reid x f!reader|| Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: Spencer comes home to find you sleeping on his couch and suddenly he can't help but ask you to take the next step in your relationship.

word count: 2.0k

You contemplate if you should knock again or wait longer for a response, but with the silence that followed your first knock, you feel pretty sure that neither will produce a new result. You had really hoped that Spencer would be home. You could, of course, just have called him and checked, but you had thought that surprising him would be nice.

It’s early Friday evening and you were supposed to spend your night with some of your girlfriends but the plans fell through at the last minute, which you secretly had been quite relieved about. You have been feeling exhausted lately and all you really want is to share a lazy evening with your boyfriend.

As it becomes clear that Spencer isn’t home, you reach into your purse, rummaging around until you get your hands on your keychain, which now includes the spare key that Spencer had given you a few months back. You have not used it yet, and you feel a little nervous about doing so now, not wanting to invade his private space, but he had given you the key and insisted that you use it whenever you needed or wanted to.

Turning the key in the lock, you push the door open and step inside. The familiar scent of Spencer’s apartment surrounds you, making you feel instantly at home. Toeing off your shoes, and dumping your keys back into your purse, you leave them by the door and make your way further into the apartment. Your sock clad feet padding softly across the living room carpet.

You step over to the aquarium, where Spencer’s fish dart around, seemingly happy to see you, or at least you like to imagine so. You smile at them, automatically searching for your favorite, the one guppy with a slightly lighter tail and fins than the others. It’s the only one you can single out from the others, who you have lovingly named Finn, which quickly turned into Finley, and which Spencer had found quite amusing.

“Hey Finley,” you whisper, tapping very, very lightly on the glass. The guppy swims closer, as if in response to your voice, and you can’t help but feel a sense of connection with the little creature. “Where’s your dad at, huh, bud?” you ask, knowing that you won’t get an answer but still wanting to fill out the silence in the room.

You make your way over to the couch, and you can’t help but smile as you take in the sight of the pile of books scattered on the coffee table.

You notice a familiar book lying on the coffee table. It’s one you had been reading together, taking turns reading chapters to each other. You pick it up, running your fingers over the pages and feeling a pang of love and longing in your chest.

You settle onto the couch, tucking your legs underneath you and opening the book to where you last left off. As you begin to read, you can almost hear Spencer’s voice in your mind, soft and soothing, reading the words with a warmth that always makes you feel at peace. The sound of his voice, the way he’ll pause at certain moments to make a point or emphasize a passage, it all comes flooding back to you. You can almost see him sitting beside you, his eyes focused on the pages, a small smile playing on his lips.

Lost in the world of the book, you continue to read, the words transporting you to another place and time. The gentle ticking of the clock on the wall fades into the background as you immerse yourself in the story, feeling a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over you.

But as the minutes pass, you start to feel the heaviness of sleep creeping in. Your eyelids grow heavy, and before you know it, you're drifting off, the book slipping from your grasp as you succumb to the pull of slumber.

You find yourself sinking deeper into the soft cushions of the couch, a sense of contentment washing over you as you let yourself relax completely. The last thing you hear before you drift off completely is the sound of the fish tank bubbling softly in the background, a soothing lullaby that carries you off to sleep.

· · · · ·

As Spencer turns the key in the lock, he feels a sense of relief wash over him. It has been a long day at work, and all he wants is to come home to the comfort of his own space and decompress, ideally with you, but he guess he’ll have to settle for just a few texts, maybe a phone call if he’s lucky.

He knows you have plans and he doesn’t want to disturb you, but he really misses you, despite having seen you only a few days ago. If it was up to Spencer he would see you every day.

As he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, he notices a pair of familiar shoes by the door that definitely aren’t his and a smile tugs at his lips, feeling a surge of warmth in his chest at the thought of you being here. The hardwood floor creaks softly under his feet as he makes his way further into the apartment, following the gentle scent of your perfume that softly lingers in the air.

As he makes his way into the living room, he can’t help but smile even wider at the sight he’s met with. You, fast asleep on his couch, the book he had been reading with you clutched in your hand. He watches as you breathe softly, the rise and fall of your chest a comforting sight amidst the chaos of his day. His heart swells with affection at the sight of you, so peaceful and serene in your slumber.

He can’t help but admire the way the soft glow of the lamp illuminates your features, casting a warm light over your face.

Quietly setting down his bag, he moves closer. His steps careful as to not wake you as he crosses the room, and sits down beside you. He feels how his heart skips a beat as he marvels at how beautiful and content you look, so utterly at ease in his home.

He leans in close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, causing you to stir slightly in your sleep and Spencer feels a surge of tenderness wash over him as he sits himself down on the floor next to you. He settles back against the side of the couch, content to just sit and watch you for a while longer. Finding you here was the best surprise ever.

As he gazes at you, he can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have you in his life. You bring him so much joy, so much light, that he can’t imagine his world without you in it. He’s so glad that you felt comfortable enough to come in, even when he’s not home.

He has never felt like this with anyone before, where he feels so at ease with someone else in his space, and who seemingly enjoys being with him despite his quirks and idiosyncrasies. He knows that you understand him in a way that few others do, and he cherishes that connection more than words can express. It’s a feeling so deep that he can’t quite put it into words, despite his proficiency with language.

After a few minutes of simply sitting in the quiet of the moment, with the soft hum of the aquarium pump in the background and the gentle sound of your chest rising and falling as you sleep, as the only sounds in the room, Spencer brings his hand to your cheek, gently stroking the soft skin of your cheekbone, his touch light and tender. He can’t help but smile at the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, even in your sleep.

Spencer watches as you begin to stir, a soft smile gracing your lips as you wake, your eyes starting to softly flutter open. As your gaze meets his, a look of confusion quickly gives way to recognition and a warm smile spreads across your face.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

“Hey,” Spencer responds, his own smile widening. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Yeah,” you reply, stretching your arms above your head and letting out a contented sigh. “I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in. My plans got canceled and I missed you, so I thought I would wait for you to get home.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Spencer replies, his heart swelling with affection. “I’m glad you did.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, savoring the moment of closeness between you. “I love having you here with me, always.”

You smile at him. “That’s lucky cause I love being here,” you say, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re always welcome here,” Spencer says, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace.

“Careful what you say,” you tease, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “I might just take you up on that offer and never leave.”

Spencer feels a surge of warmth and longing at your words, his heart full with love for you. The question he has wanted to ask you for a while, but never found the right moment to, suddenly feels like it’s pressing against his chest, demanding to be spoken. He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage, and meets your gaze with unwavering determination.

“Well, that wouldn’t really be such a bad thing,” he begins, his voice soft yet resolute. “I know this might be a bit sudden, but...” he trails off, suddenly feeling a wave of nerves wash over him. But he pushes through, taking your hands in his and looking into your eyes with sincerity. “I was wondering if maybe... you would consider moving in with me? I love having you here, and I just can’t imagine my life without you in it. And I want us to create a home together. You obviously don’t have to answer now, and we don’t need to live here if you don’t want to. We could live at your place, or find somewhere new if that is what you want. I just want to be with you, in whatever way makes you happy,” he says, feeling the weight of his words hang in the air between you.

Spencer’s heart pounds in his chest as he awaits your answer, hoping beyond hope that you feel the same way he does, that you want to take the next step in your relationship together.

Your eyes have turned wide as you look at him with surprise and Spencer holds his breath, waiting for your response. But soon your shocked face turns into a bright smile, and tears start to glisten in your beautiful eyes. “I would love that, Spence” you say softly

Spencer’s face breaks into a wide grin, his eyes shining with happiness. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm, leaning in to kiss him, sealing your promise with a tender touch of your lips. Spencer wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. He feels a surge of joy and relief wash over him at your answer.

You both sit there in a bubble of happiness, basking in the warmth of your love for each other. “I love you,” Spencer whispers, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I love you too,” you reply, pressing your forehead against his. “And I would love to live here with you, Spence.”

He feels like his heart is going to burst with happiness at your words, feeling a profound sense of gratitude and love for you. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have found someone who not only accepts him for who he is but also wants to build a future together with him.

“I can’t wait to have you here with me, every day,” Spencer whispers, his voice filled with love and gratitude.

Spencer pulls you in for another kiss, his heart overflowing with love for you. And as you snuggle closer to him, he couldn’t be happier to have found someone who loves him so deeply and completely.

You both sit there, reveling in the warmth of the moment, knowing that this is just the beginning of a new chapter in your relationship. As the realization sinks in that you will soon be sharing a home together.

[anexor]

for the wip ask game!!

🫂❤️🌹🤯!!

Hi friend! I'm always eager to share more Erli writing ;)

(Answers under read more because they're kinda long)

❤️ Share one of your favorite lines.

(From the most recent Lyel chapter)

“…I’m sorry, but the shadiest organization in the world just kidnapped me, brought me to an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, threatened me, and all you want is my time? If I have you pinned down correctly as the Eldritch Guard–and I’m judging by your current expression that that is correct–then you’re asking me to sell some of my time to the left-hand of the king with no explanation."

🤯 Share a surprising line, or one where a character realizes something.

(Slightly later on in the same chapter)

The book was… blue. Not a vibrant blue to match what would have been the element of Water, but a deeper, darker blue more reminiscent of Death or Arcane. Yet it was still neither of those elements. Somehow this book’s aura was pulsing with an element that shouldn’t have existed. “What… is this?” I asked, still holding the book out. “It’s from our contact. We received three from her, one for each of you,” the arachnid replied. “That isn’t what I mean,” I said, shaking my head. “This doesn’t have the aura of an existing element.” The arachnid looked up sharply from her book. “What are you talking about?” “It’s blue; not like Water, it’s a darker blue than that. It almost looks like… a flowering spulthum,” I said.

🌹 Share your most poetic line. (Is it cheating to re-post the actual poem I wrote here?)

Ash colored sky, mud colored ground Bodies buried deep; the peace that they found

How many fell that night Murdered by rage Ravaged by might Caught in the rampage?

Ash colored sky, flame colored walls Fallen friends embraced, murdered in their halls

A year ago; felt an age All took flight Not a stage For all their fright

Ash colored sky, blood colored rain This elegy of color to wash away the pain

🫂 Share a line (or dialogue exchange) that shows the relationship between two characters.

(Saved this one for last because of some story spoilers)

“My name’s Ilkrin,” the elf said as he crouched back down to look under the bed. “What’s yours?” “L-l-l-ly-” Lyel stuttered, failing to form the words as he shook. “Shhh, it’s fine, I’ll learn it later,” Ilkrin said, standing back up. He walked over to the desk and Lyel could hear the flapping of paper as the man started writing something down. Lyel could see light spreading through the hallway when the man stopped writing and walked back to the bed, slipping the paper underneath. “Meet me here when you can’t hear the rioters anymore,” Ilkrin said as Lyel took the paper. “Don’t let it get too burnt.”

[buckyownsmylife]

Closed Signal - Tom Hardy smut

The one where Tom fears he might be getting too old for you

Warnings: smut, implied age gap, implied size kink, inappropriate drunk friend, insecure!Tom, dirty talk, daddy kink, exhibitionism kink, mention of overstimulation, name-calling, jealousy, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: this idea came from a request and I took advantage of the plot bunny to make it as some sort of follow-up to this story. Can totally be read by itself though - as most of my stuff 🤔

The party was going in full swing by the time Tom arrived. He’d been working like crazy lately, doing pre-production work for his next movie, which was one he was quite excited about.

It was completely different from anything he’d ever done before, and while that in itself presented a risk, my boyfriend was precisely the type to thrive in that anxiety. He just put a lot of himself in the process, and it’d been getting more and more difficult to see him outside of breakfast or bed time, so I was really excited when he agreed to meet me here.

“There you are, baby.” I smiled widely as his familiar mob of hair - now slightly grown for the role - appeared in the distance, briefly distracted from the conversation I’d been entertaining with my friend Chris. “I missed you.”

I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss him when he was close enough, rubbing my cheek against his bearded one. He was also letting it grow for the role, and I didn’t tell him, but the spots of white hair were disturbingly arousing to me, as if it reminded me of the age gap in our relationship, the almost taboo nature of it.

“Hey man, how have you been?” Chris nodded towards Tom, slapping his bicep as he approached to say hello. My boyfriend pointed at the beer in our hands, confirming, “Are you drinking beer?” to which I sheepishly waved the empty bottle I was holding.

“I finished mine, I was about to go and get another.” But Tom, ever the gentleman, was already shaking his head.

“Stay here, I’ll grab us both new ones.” My eyes trailed after him as he left, taking in the expanse of his back, how it signaled how much larger than my body his was. It still brought a shiver down my spine, a year after we’d started dating.

It was silent for a while as I couldn’t remember what it was that I’d been chatting with Chris until he was the one who broke the silence. “I’ll never understand how the hell Tom  managed to get with you.”

The sentence was so out of place it took me a while to figure out how the hell to respond to it, and in that silence, drunk and inappropriate Chris prospered.

“Is it a kinky thing?” I was once again taken by surprise, mouth hanging open as I stared at my friend without believing what was coming out of his. “Do you get off on being his little girl or something?”

My face felt warm as he finally shut his mouth, but I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or pure, unadulterated anger. “Why the fuck do you think that it’s appropriate to talk to me like that, Chris?”

My tone and words shocked him, the widened eyes said as much. “Oh, sorry.” He gulped and shifted from one foot to another, and still he couldn’t help but insist, “I just… Isn’t he a bit too old for you?”

I narrowed my eyes at him with my blood pumping inside my veins, particularly because I could see Tom had frozen in his tracks right behind the man that had angered me, clearly having heard what was said and also clearly taken back by it.

“Chris, he’s not even five years older than you.” The way is eyebrows shot up wasn’t comforting to me in the slightest.

“Oh, shit! Really? The white beard threw me off completely.”

The night was pretty much over for the both of us after this. I knew Tom was stuck on Chris’s words and I also knew I wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it. I’d have to wait until he decided to speak his mind to me.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. As we prepared for bed that evening, he approached me with cautious steps as I braced myself for what was coming, but I was pleasantly surprised by the tone of jest he assumed to complain, “My bones ache.”

I stared at his childish pout for a long time, not quite believing this is how he was going to go on about this until finally laughter escaped my chest. “And still, you fuck me just right,” I teased him, making him scoff as he averted his gaze, but I knew I’d played this to his ego.

A small silence followed my response, a pause in which I watched him gather his thoughts before he met my eyes to question, “Don’t you think I’m too old for you?” Opening up a slow smile, I opened my arms to welcome him into my embrace as I retorted, “I obviously don’t.”

Still, he sighed, rubbing his full beard against my neck as he listened to my heartbeat, so I proceeded, “And I also think our age gap is sexy.” That got his attention. He licked his lips as he sat up slightly, hovering over my lying body as he took in the shirt of his I was wearing to bed - and nothing else.

“Oh, is that so?”

Biting my lip to stop my smirk from growing, I nodded before voicing, “Yes… daddy.”

The way his eyes darkened was undeniable and it fed this hunger inside of me that I wasn’t expecting to feel. Suddenly, I was up on my knees, pushing him back against the bed as I took my place over his lap.

“Would you like to fuck me in front of Chris, baby?” His hands on my naked hips tightened to the point of bruising. I relished in it. “Make him see how well you give it to me?”

The fact that he wasn’t wearing any underwear under his sweatpants definitely helped me when I slid them down just enough to grab a hold of his dick. “Make him watch as you fucked me senseless, make me cry for you to stop while you kept fucking me until I pass out?”

“He could never get me this wet.” He felt what I meant the second I started to slowly sit down on his dick, biting my lower lip to stop myself from screaming at the pleasurable stretch. “All you have to do is stare at me and I’m ready for your cock, daddy.”

He pulled me by the back of my neck to meet his lips, panting against mine in something that was less of a kiss and more of a different way to breathe me in. “You’re too fucking hot.” It sounded almost like a complaint. It made me laugh.

“C’mon, daddy,” I whined in my best bratty voice, the one that called out to Tom like a flame did to a moth. “Take it out on me. Use me.” This time he did kiss me - and it was wild and forceful, like the way he started thrusting up against me just before he threw me on the bed to take his place on top of my body.

“You’re my perfect little slut, huh?” He nuzzled the crook of my neck, breathing me in as I wiped away the taste of him from my lips. I was obsessed with it, just like I was obsessed with every part of him. “So you don’t think about him when I’m fucking you?”

The question was paired with a forceful thrust that ended with the head of his cock rubbing precisely against my sweet spot, making me mewl underneath him. “Answer me, darling.”

His hand covered my throat, easily catching my attention. I answered honestly. “I don’t think about him at all, daddy.” He seemed to like it, judging by the way he immediately started fucking me against the bed, forcing me to hold onto his shoulders as I screamed in pleasure.

“Good answer, sweetheart,” he chuckled, mouth exploring every inch of skin he could reach. “You take me so well, baby,” he complimented, knowing how it always got to me. “I bet Chris gets off thinking about doing this to you, fucking you like I’m doing right now. But he never will, huh?”

I was quick to shake my head, incapable of voicing a simple ‘no’ with how drunk on his cock I felt. “That’s my girl.�� The thought of being his had been such a distant dream for so long that just those words were enough to set me off, leading me to an orgasm that milked his too.

As he emptied himself inside of me, he softly fell over my body, smashing me against the mattress. “Tommy…” I whined, trying to push him away, much to his amusement. “’Can’t breathe.”

He was still laughing when he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so I’d lay my head on his chest. It was quiet and peaceful for a while, my breathing slowly getting deeper and deeper as I listened to his heartbeat right by my ear until…

“Don’t fall asleep on me, baby.” His voice was quiet as he brushed my hair away from my face, trying to get a clear view of my expression before he continued, “I still have enough stamina to fuck you through the night.”

All I could do was snort, hiding my face against his skin before I teased him, “Good, because I desperately want your cock in my mouth.”

[jaehyunfirstlove]

I don’t know if this is too specific but can I request for a smut where jaehyun despises y/n for a reason that she acts all innocent and kind infront of everybody when y/n is actually a brat and he wants to see it himself by giving her a rough sex (almost like a hate sex as well?) I really love your works and I spend most of my time reading them, this is my first request ever! thank you if you do ❤️

Pairing: friend!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: hate sex, unprotected sex, teasing, choking, degradation? sort of?

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: thank you for this request, hope you like it :)

“Isn’t Y/N so sweet?” Jungwoo sighed, watching you walk away towards the buffet to get him some more cocktail shrimp.

Jaehyun just watched you, eyes narrowed. He knew better, knew your little act was all for show. “I wouldn’t bet on it,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What are you talking about?” Mark laughed loudly, “she’s the sweetest person we know, right Taeyong?”

Taeyong nodded, before launching into his favorite story about how you had taken care of him when he was sick once and refused to go to the doctor, while Taeil piped up about a story where you had given a homeless man your umbrella. Everyone else nodded in agreement, your entire friend group, save Jaehyun, agreeing that you were an angel on earth.

Jaehyun, however, knew what you were capable of. He was good friends with Yuta, your ex, and Yuta had told him everything about how bratty you were, how you liked to push his buttons, how you would misbehave on purpose in order to get punished. He hated this little act you displayed to everyone, disgusted that all of your friends believed you were some sweet, innocent person, when in reality, you were anything but.

---

“Here, Jaehyun, give it to me, I’ll wash it for you.”

You were all at Haechan’s house party, and someone had spilled their drink on Jaehyun’s shirt. At your offer, he only shook his head, mouth downturned.

“No thanks,” he said curtly.

“It’s no bother, really, best to get it out right away,” you insisted, holding out your hand to him, “come on, let’s go upstairs and get it cleaned.”

“No really, I’m good,” Jaehyun was positively cold now, his voice like ice.

“What’s the problem? Just go with her! She’s offering to clean your shirt!” Johnny was already a few beers in and unnecessarily loud, which made Jaehyun flinch.

“You can use my room,” Haechan offered, practically picking up Jaehyun and pushing him towards you. Reluctantly he got up, sighing heavily, and followed you up the stairs.

You led Jaehyun into Haechan’s room and closed the door behind him. “Okay, give me your shirt,” you said sweetly, “I can turn around if that makes you more comfortable.”

Jaehyun could feel his blood boiling, seeing your bratty attitude starting to come out as you stared at him cheekily. He bit the inside of his cheek, arousal and anger mixing together inside of him.

“Well?” you questioned, hands on your hips, “I won’t be able to wash it if you’re wearing it, although I guess I could try…” smirking you reached towards his shirt, but before you could make contact he grabbed your wrist.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” he said, his voice harsh, “I’m calling the shots now.”

He squeezed your wrist harder, making you wince, but riling him up was fun, so you continued. “Is that so?” you asked, eyeing him up and down as he stared at you, “and what shots will you be calling, exactly?”

“You act all sweet and innocent in front of our friends, but really you’re just a fucking brat, am I right?”

You laughed. “Who told you that? I bet it was Nakamoto Yuta,” you scoffed, “he could never keep his mouth shut.”

“So is it true?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“I intend to.”

He came at you then, pushing you onto the bed and then caging you in with his body. You were loving it, but still you felt the need to push his buttons.

“Took you long enough to get me into this position,” you teased, “Yuta had me underneath him an hour after we met.”

Clearly he didn’t like being compared to anyone, let alone one of his closest friends. The vein in his forehead throbbed, his mouth a thin line, as he leaned his face closer to yours.

“Keep it up, baby, and you’ll get what you deserve,” he growled, breath fanning your face.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby,” you continued to tease, adrenaline rushing through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You had to admit, Jeong Jaehyun intrigued you, and you were dying to know if he was really packing down there like you suspected he was.

“Watch it,” he warned, bringing his knee between your legs and rubbing it against your pussy. You inhaled sharply at the friction, and his eyes grew dark as he watched your reaction. “I’m gonna fuck you right now, I’m gonna make you scream my name and forget your own.”

He was making you hot, arousal coursing through your body and turning your limbs to jelly. You were powerless as he started to kiss your neck, still rubbing his knee against your crotch, making you whimper.

“Not so bratty now, are you,” he smirked, sucking harshly on your skin and definitely leaving marks. You squirmed as he continued to rub his knee into you, but you needed more.

“Is that the best you can do?” you breathed, trying to affect a breezy air but it was getting more and more difficult with the way he was teasing you.

He growled against your neck, before he practically ripped your clothes off of you, then pulled off his own. Once you were both naked he leaned back on his knees to admire you, lying bare beneath him. Taking his cock in his hand he pumped it slowly, watching you as you watched him, salivating at the sight.

“I’ll show you what I can do,” he said, his voice low and raspy. You pretended to laugh, and it had the desired effect. His face went dark, eyes hard, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning you to the bed. “I’ll show you what a brat like you deserves.”

He entered you, hard and fast, no preamble, no sweet words and soft movements to coax your hole to open up for him, just his rock hard cock ramming into your pussy. You fought the scream that wanted to tear out of your throat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but that became increasingly hard when he started to build up a pace, fucking into you so hard the bed creaked loudly.

“You wanna piss me off, make me angry, well this is what you get,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. You could hear the anger in it, feel it in his movements, in the way he squeezed your wrists as he held you down. His hips were relentless, pounding into you, his cock so big and so deep inside you it felt like he was rearranging your insides. You wanted to moan, whimper, cry his name, all of it, but you fought it, keeping as quiet as you could to rile him up even more.

“Tell me you like it, you fucking brat,” he hissed, letting go of your arms so he could squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples. Again you fought the urge to cry out as he pinched and pulled at your sensitive buds. You clutched the sheets instead, feeling an orgasm coming on and trying your hardest not to make it obvious. But your body gave you away, your pussy clenching around him, thighs shaking as he pulled an orgasm out of you so strong you could see stars in your vision.

“You don’t have to tell me, your pussy said it all,” he smirked, still railing you, tears pricking your eyes from oversensitivity but still he kept going.

“Still wasn’t good enough for me,” you lied, trying to keep your breathing even, “I’ve had better.”

He tried to look unaffected by your words, but his hips stuttered, giving him away. Without a word he pulled out of you and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up roughly by your hips so your pussy was opened up to him. You braced yourself on your elbows as he plunged into you again, the force of his thrust almost knocking you face first onto the mattress.

“You’re really gonna get it now, no more holding back,” he growled, and you wondered what was in store for you if that’s what he was like when he was holding back. This time, you couldn’t stifle your screams as he pounded you so hard and so deep he was reaching places you didn’t think anyone could reach. High-pitched whines and moans left your mouth as he tore you apart, as his cock pumped in and out of you making you come again and again, losing track of the orgasms you were having, his hands rough on your body.

“That’s it, baby,” he wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you up to him, whispering in your ear, “keep screaming like that, show everyone what a bratty little fuck you are.”

You’d lost yourself to him at this point, unable to resist anymore, and so you did as you were told, screaming until your voice was hoarse.

“Scream my name, baby, tell everyone who’s fucking the brattiness out of you,” he squeezed his hand around your neck, restricting your airflow, and it made you so aroused you gushed around his cock.

“Jaehyun!” you choked out, “yes! Fuck me, Jaehyun!”

He came with a deep, guttural groan, squeezing your neck even harder, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach to bring you even closer to him and push his cock even deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, all of your limbs convulsing as you came again, your mouth falling slack as the lack of air started to take its toll. Just before you blacked out completely he released his hold on you, and you fell limply onto the bed.

You were slowly coming back to yourself when you felt Jaehyun stroking your arm. You turned around to look at him and he was already dressed, sitting on the bed beside you.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” he said it jokingly, with a smile, but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“Did you prove your point? Am I really a brat?” you asked, your brain still hazy from the mind-blowing sex you’d just had.

He grinned from ear to ear. “Yes, you’re really a brat,” he nodded, “but to be honest, I kinda like it.”

---

Thanks for 1.4k :)

[REQUESTS CLOSED]

[runtedfiction]

nothing

day 6: abnormality @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: inspired by this lovely artwork from @eerna. it's so good that it's seared into my personal canon. (also, day 7 will be egregiously late, so i'll prob post it as its own thing)

* * *

The aftermath of the Spring of Power.

* * *

“What’s wrong with me?”

When she asks it, she doesn’t expect to hear anything, just like always. But still, she can’t help but stare into the stupid statue’s eyes and hope for something to happen. She stares and stares until the water begins to feel almost warm. Until Link appears in the periphery of her vision.

“Princess, your fingers are purple.”

When he helps her out of the spring, she isn’t shivering--she’s cried so hard that she doesn't have energy for anything else. He wraps a cloak around her, his brow the most furrowed she’s ever seen. She barely has the energy to thank him, let alone walk. After she nearly trips for the third time on the way back to their campsite, he stops.

“Can--” he stumbles over his words. Even lifting her head to look at him makes her tired. “Can I carry you?”

“Yes. Please.” She just wants to be somewhere warm. The chill is coming back, and this time it’s deeper than it’s ever been.

He places one arm beneath her legs, and one behind her back.

Perhaps in another life, she would have blushed while her handsome knight carried her, bridal style, to their lodgings for the night. In another life, she would’ve taken this opportunity to loop her arms around his neck and bury her face in his neck.

In this one, as soon as her body doesn’t have to work to move, she passes out.

* * *

She wakes up shortly after he places her down to the sound of the kettle whistling. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and she would fall back asleep instantly if her dress weren’t still so cold. Link’s moved her bedroll as close as it can be to the fire. She closes her eyes to soak in the heat on her cheeks.

“I’m making tea,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You should change.”

“Ok.” She closes her eyes for a bit more. It isn’t so bad now that her face is warm. She can almost ignore the fact that the rest of her body feels like the Biron Snowshelf, and if she focuses on the fire and its crackle it sounds so soothing, and—

“Princess,” he says gently. “You should change.”

Zelda rubs her eyes and sits up. “You’re right.”

In the tent, she shivers as she peels off her dress. Link also laid out a towel, and she runs it over her body as quickly as she can considering her hands hurt like hell. She focuses on getting her Rito set as quickly as possible.

When she walks out to sit next to him, he has a mug of tea and a second cloak ready.

“Here.” He drapes it over her shoulders, and hands her the steaming mug. She estimates she’s feeling one tenth of how hot the metal actually is as she wraps her hands around it.

“Thank you.”

Slowly, the unbearable chill defrosts. She takes a sip of the tea.

“Mm,” she says to break the silence. Now that the fog in her brain is also clearing, it’s easy to remember that she cried in front of him for the better part of an hour. She’s too tired to be embarrassed, but still. “This is good. What is it?”

He doesn’t look up from polishing his sword. “Oolong. Decaf.”

“Fancy,” she says.

He nods.

“Did you know,” she says, after a beat, “that oolong is one of the most difficult teas to produce? Some say it’s similar to making fine wine.”

He doesn’t say anything; it seems like there’s a spot of rust or monster gunk that’s particularly to get off. But she’s used to his silence by this point--if anything, now that she’s gotten him to open up, it’s strange when he does respond. It’s easy to keep talking.

“Excluding external factors like the mountain you’re on and that year’s weather conditions, there are millions of small things you can do to vary the flavor. You need to choose a specific variety to grow, how long you want it to oxidize for, and in the case of decaf, you need to expose the moistened tea leaves to pressurized carbon dioxide.”

She looks into the fire. “But, there’s one thing all oolong producers need to do--you need to let it wilt in the sun. Once you pick the plant, this living thing that you’ve cultivated and cherished and killed, you need to find a day with strong sun. You need to let it wilt.”

She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going with this (just that it fills her with rage when she thinks about how her father couldn’t care less if she froze to death today), so she stops.

“Mm,” he says after an inappropriately long amount of time. “Interesting.”

She almost smiles. “You’re lying.”

He looks at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while more. When he puts in the last of the firewood, he speaks first.

“Are you ok?”

“What?”

He looks at her. His brow is furrowed again. “Are you ok?”

The question is so simple, so genuine, that it stabs at her.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping at her cheeks when the tears come. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“It’s ok.”

He looks back into the fire again, and waits patiently.

“To be honest,” she says with a sigh once she’s done composing herself. “I don’t think things are going too well.”

“We have time.”

He looks so calm, despite the fact that there’s only one more spring and time is running out. And sure, they have the Champions and the Divine Beasts and the Guardians, but Zelda knows that their odds of survival would increase exponentially with her.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but it isn’t enough. And this isn’t--this can’t be normal.”

“What can’t be?”

“Not hearing anything. Not feeling anything, even when all I do is pray.” She hopes she doesn’t sound too bitter.

He looks back into the fire. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Again, for someone who normally says nothing, it’s impressive how his words cut into her like a knife. This time she swallows the lump in her throat. She can’t cry in front of him for a third time.

“Oh,” she says, in her worst impression of casualness, “so you were listening earlier?”

“Sorry.”

She smiles a little to try and put him at ease. It doesn’t look like it’s working, especially since he’s still avoiding eye contact. “You mean to tell me you aren’t listening all the time?”

“Well this one,” he says, then pauses. She wonders if he’s also remembering how broken her voice was (“What’s wrong with me?”). “This one sounded a bit different.”

“It was,” she says, choosing to not say, “I fear I will cause the apocalypse.”

He looks over at her. She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her if everything will be ok, or if she just wants a hug.

It’s her turn to stumble over her words. “Can--can I put my head on your shoulder?”

He looks surprised, but who is a knight to refuse his princess? (And secretly, she has a feeling he’d go to the ends of the world for her.) “Sure.”

Very gingerly, she places her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. They watch the fire die down to glowing embers.

* * *

It’s hard for her to fall asleep, even when the fire is out and she’s so toasty it’s easy to forget what she felt like just a few hours ago.

She keeps playing his words over and over in her head. Nothing’s wrong with you.

Link is solid and warm and an anchor. A reminder that underneath the legends and lifetimes and lore, there’s another story here. It involves a boy and a girl, a princess and her knight.

The princess knows that she’s in love with her knight. She knows she might end the world.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers.

Link shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire - 3

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 7.601

Warnings: NSFW! Overthinking. Talking to a dog. Flirting. Nervous energy. A little awkwardness. Smut. 69. Making love. Love. Fluff. The end.

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the lovely @radaofrivia​​ - who wrote the beautiful smutty parts.

The dividers are made by @firefly-graphics

This story is dedicated to all the women who struggle with pain. It doesn’t matter where that pain is, but know that you are not alone.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

“What have I gotten myself into?

You stood in front of the mirror, having changed into the fifth dress, but nothing you had tried on was good enough for a date with the hottest doctor in town. A loud groan left your lips, making your sister peek inside your room.

“Everything alright in here?” she asked, looking over the room. Clothes were spread everywhere, shoes thrown all over, and you pacing in front of the closet, desperately trying to find something fitting to wear. “Looks like a tornado went through.”

“I have nothing to wear! So please, either come help me or get out,” you snapped. You heard the angry tone in your voice and turned around to face your younger sister, who looked mildly annoyed at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch.”

“Care to tell me what’s going on? I thought you were excited to go out with the dashing doctor?” She asked and went to sit on the only available space on the bed.

You picked up the five discarded pieces of clothing.

“This,” you held up the first dress, “is too short. He’ll think I’m a whore.”

“Then wear leggings underneath it. Do I need to remind you, sissy, that he has already seen you butt-naked?”

You glared at your sister, feeling she didn’t understand your situation that this date had to be perfect.

What if our attraction was a fluke?

“This,” you showed the second dress, “is too long. He’ll think I’m a prude.”

“Then cut it to the right length.”

What if he thinks I was an easy prey? I was. I practically begged him to fuck me. Fuck!

You were starting to sweat as you held up the third dress.

“This shows too much cleavage. He’ll think I’m trying to seduce the entire restaurant.”

“Wear a shirt under it.”

What if he isn’t taking me to a restaurant? What if we’re going to his place?

You kept rambling about the fourth and fifth dress, and your sister retorted with solutions to each of them.

“Sissy, your thoughts are so loud I think even he can hear them.”

You threw a dress in her face.

“You’re thinking of every possibility that this could go wrong, aren’t you?”

“No…” you mumbled, but a good death stare from your sister made you change your mind from lying, “Yes, I’m scared, Pat. What if he isn’t the man he made me believe he is? What if he’s a serial killer disguised as a vaginal doctor? What if he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing? What if I’m walking right into grandma’s house and get eaten by the big bad wolf?”

“Stop, stop, you’re making no sense whatsoever…”

“And what if he doesn’t like me? What if we don’t have any chemistry? What if… oh my god, what if he only wants me as a fuck-buddy?”

You were pacing around your room, walking through the clothes, kicking the shoes away from your wandering path. Your sister grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on the bed.

“You are overthinking,” she booped your nose, “You are a gorgeous human being, very pretty too, if I have to say so myself. If he was only going to have you as his fuck-buddy, then you either say yes, because God knows you need a good fuck, or you say no because you’re looking for something deeper. And he wouldn’t have asked you on a date if he wasn’t into you! Take a deep breath with me.”

You both inhaled and exhaled, again and again, until your heartbeat wasn’t about to gallop right out of your chest.

“Now that you’re nice and calm… eh, ish, let’s put on some music and get you ready for your date. I have the perfect dress for you to wear tonight, just promise not to spill wine on it.”

Lucas walked out of the steaming shower, wrapping a large fluffy towel around his hips. His dog, a German Shepherd, was lying on the carpeted bedroom floor by the door. Her brown eyes were staring at him intensely like she knew that he was going somewhere.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, Aika. And I promise to bring your favourite treat from the restaurant,” he told the dog. Mention of the treat perked her ears up.

Sy chuckled as he started grooming his beard. Then a light went off in his mind.

Fuck, what if she doesn’t like dogs?

He looked apologetically at Aika, who was drooling on the carpet, already tasting the treat on her palate.

Lucas finished in the bathroom and went to his spacious walk-in closet.

“What should I wear, girl?” He asked as if Aika knew what was hot in fashion. She walked over to where he hung his trousers, sniffed a few before picking a grey pair down from the hanger. She then managed to trot over to him with a pair of brown leather shoes.

“Well, thanks, girl, these are perfect. So what do you think, a white shirt or a black shirt?” Sy held each piece up to Aika, and she barked happily at the white shirt, her tail wagging excitedly. The dashing doctor also chose a matching grey suit jacket. He looked himself over in the mirror.

“I really want this to work, Aika,” he mumbled to his dog, who cocked her head to the side. “I think she’s amazing, and I hope she likes dogs because if not, I would be really sad… to say goodbye to you.”

Aika growled at him, making Sy laugh out loud.

“Sorry girl, I’m just kidding, I’m kidding. You belong with me, forever and always,” he scratched her belly. “What do I do if I make an ass out of myself?”

Aika rolled around and let out a loud ‘woof’ as if she was saying that he should just be himself.

“Okay, I’ll do my best. But what if she’s not who I think she is? What do I do then?”

Aika let out a deep rumble from her chest. I’ll bite her sorry ass if she isn’t.

You walked down the pavement looking for the restaurant Sy had texted you the address of. Sy was standing out front, waiting for you, he looked so handsome in his grey suit, and now you felt you might have been under-dressed. His face lit up in a warm grin, and his eyebrows arched when he saw you moving towards him. You smiled shyly back.

As Sy leaned down to kiss her cheek, you were going for his lips, ending in an awkward angled greeting.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you whispered at the same time he said: “Sorry!”

You stood there, looking down on the pavement, red-faced and suddenly very shy, not knowing what to do next while he was staring at you, not being able to take his eyes off you.

Lucas chuckled and presented his arm.

“Shall we go in?”

He was smiling at you, trying his best not to make your encounter awkward. You took his arm and was led into the restaurant. You looked around at the warm and comfortable atmosphere of the room. Chinese lanterns were hanging down from the loft, casting a soft light over space. The wooden tables had an induction heating plate for the hotpot that could contain either one, two or four different soups. The couple were seated near the covered fishing pond that was placed in the middle of the restaurant, a glass wall surrounding the pond, so no one could fall and get wet. The koi fish were swimming around, showing off their orange, red, white, and black scales. It was a soothing and calming sight and helped you relax in the presence of the handsome doctor.

A waitress came to take your drink orders while you looked through the menu.

“Oh, I don’t know what goes well with anything here,” you said, suddenly feeling so out of place.

“May I suggest one of their beers? They’re really good,” Lucas smiled at you warmly as he gave his drink order. You ordered one of their light and refreshing beers.

You looked down at the menu again. Not knowing what to pick as everything sounded delicious.

“There’s so much food,” you commented with a giggle.

“Do you want to try one of their special menus? That way, you can try a little of everything,” Sy suggested.

“I’d like that.”

The waitress came back with their drinks, and Sy rambled away your order. He ordered the four soup hot pot, various meats, seafood, vegetables, and an enormous amount of different types of noodles.

“How did you come by this place?” You asked, taking a sip of beer.

“I was walking around the neighbourhood one day with my sisters, and one of them wanted dumplings, another some noodles, and the third wanted some soup. I searched for a restaurant that had all three things, and this place popped up. It has become my favourite restaurant in the entire city,” he was a vivid storyteller that doctor.

“You brought me to your favourite restaurant?”

“Well, yes. I know it’s not the most traditional place to have a first date, but the food is amazing,” a pink blush crept up his neck and reached his cheeks.

“I think it’s the perfect place for a first date. I like trying new things,” you assured him, watching as a boyish grin of pride spread on his lips. God, how you wanted to kiss those lips.

“I hope you mean that because here comes the food,” Sy nodded towards the three waiters walking with an extra table full of food and the pot filled with the four soups.

“Oh dear,” you watched as they set the plates full of meat around you. “Are we feeding an army?”

“Trust me, darling, this might not be enough when we first get started,” Sy smiled. He reached for his chopsticks, “Have you eaten with chopsticks before?”

You gasped, pretending to be offended.

“I will let you know, doctor, that I was trained by the best to eat with chopsticks,” you showed him your hold, “My sister loves to get Chinese takeout when none of us feels like cooking, and there’s a restaurant that makes the best potstickers and chow mein.”

“Maybe we can order from there one day,” Sy suggested, his voice soft and full of promises.

“I’d like that. So, how do we do this?” you asked.

Lucas told you about the four different soups. They ranked from not-so-spicy to hell’s gate spicy. He talked about all the different cuts of meat, how to just put the ingredients in the soup, advising that you put in the lotus root first as it took a long time to cook.

While the doctor was talking, you were watching him. Your sole focus was on the way his lips moved and his tongue darting out from time to time. That tongue, that godly tongue.

His voice was rich and deep, so smooth and velvety you wanted to hear him talk forever. He caught you ogling at him.

“Everything alright?” he asked, looking a bit confused.

“Yeah, I was just thinking how amazing you look out of your white coat,” you blurted, making Sy laugh and blush an even deeper shade of pink before turning red.

“Why thank you, but I think the real showstopper tonight is you. You look beautiful,” he complimented.

“You’re just saying that because I complimented you first,” you giggled like a teenage schoolgirl with a crush.

Sy shook his head as he reached for the pieces of meat he had put in the soups. He picked one out and moved the chopsticks closer to your mouth.

“Try this,” he recommended. You closed your mouth around the chopsticks, letting the meat fall on your tongue. The sweet umami flavour of the pork was melting in your mouth, and you let out a soft moan.

Lucas was watching your mouth closely. The mouth that had been sucking him off a few days earlier in his office. The pretty mouth that swallowed his seed. His pants were suddenly feeling very snug around his groin area. Fuck, not now!

Thankfully his horny thoughts were interrupted by your suggestion.

“My turn to feed you,” you dove into the spiciest soup and picked out a dumpling. Why does he look so good? Lord, what is he thinking? Why is he looking at me like that? Something on my face?

Your hand was shaking a bit as you leaned over to give the dumpling to Sy, and then you dropped it, watching in slow motion as gravity did its thing, making the dumpling land on Lucas’ crisp white shirt and then down to his lap it went.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. You quickly stood with your napkin and went over to clean the mess you had made. Lucas had picked up the fallen dumpling, not even thinking about the stain the red soup had made. He was having sinful thoughts of you sitting on your knees trying to wash off the red colour with your napkin.

“I ruined your shirt,” you sighed as the stain became worse, and it started to spread the more you rubbed the fabric.

“You’ve made it a habit to ruin my clothes, sunshine,” Lucas chuckled, but his laughter died quickly as you dabbed the napkin on his thigh, moving closer to the hard-on he was willing to go soft, but too late.

Oh, ooooooh.

“Maybe I don’t like that they’re hiding what nature has so gracefully given you,” you smirk up at him, giving him a sultry look.

Lucas swallowed hard. You could see his throat tensing as his Adam's apple bopped up and down. He’s looking you straight in the eyes, trying his best to restrain himself from taking you right then and there.

“God, I love your boldness,” his voice was low, soft, almost velvety, as if he was trying to tell you with the tone of his voice alone how much he wanted you. The smoothness of his voice was sending shivers down your spine, and some part of your brain was signalling that now was the time for you to attack him, rip his clothes off, ride him right there in the chair, not even caring about the people around you.

“Is everything okay?” A waitress asked, interrupting the moment. You snapped out of your lust-filled haze and went back to your chair. Sy coughed, masking his even dirtier thoughts.

“Yes, everything is good. The food is amazing. Can we get two shots of baijiu?” he asked, suddenly in need of something strong to stay put during dinner.

The waitress came back with the shots. Lucas held up his glass.

“Cheers,” he said and downed the clear liquid in one go, but you took a small sip.

“Oh shit, it’s burning my throat,” you gasped, putting the shot down.

“Believe me, you’re going to need all of it until we’ve finished eating,” Sy hinted at something more.

You inhaled the shot, letting the fire spread throughout your chest all the way down to your thighs and throbbing core. Your brain was slowly getting fuzzier, giving you the courage to ask him what had been on your mind since he asked you on the date.

“What are we, doctor?” You blurted, not thinking about how loud you actually were. You continued as you watched confusion spread on his handsome face: “What are you looking for in a partner? Are we going to be a no-strings-attached kind of thing? Casual hookup?”

You stopped and took a deep breath, waiting for his answer. You watched his lips, trying to avoid his eyes. If he wanted a ‘friends with benefits’-relationship, you would be devastated.

“There’s nothing casual about you, buttercup,” Sy was surprised by what you had just told him. He couldn’t deny the connection there was between the two of you. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt it deep in his guts that there was something more, and he wanted to be more for you. “I want to get to know you. I want to explore the deep connection that we have and see where it leads us. What about you? What are you looking for?”

“I… I want that too. Because to me, this. What we have is too good to be just an emotionless thing,” you started, “I feel safe around you, Lucas. I don’t know why, but I do. Do I make any sense? Because I feel like I’m just sitting here rambling…”

Lucas grabbed your hands across the table, avoiding the soups. He caressed the soft skin over your knuckles. His protective instinct was on overload, he wanted to protect you, and his heart was racing from hearing you say that you felt safe around him.

“You make sense to me, bug.”

Your first date had been perfect, so were the following dates afterwards. Lucas Syverson was the perfect gentleman and taken it like a champ when you had asked to take things slow, especially with you not knowing if it was still going to hurt when having sex. You wanted to have your ‘problem’ solved before you took that all-intimate next step with Sy. You built a beautiful relationship and a strong friendship from your attraction.

Lucas had invited you out for lunch one day. He asked about how it was going with the new gynaecologist he had recommended, a woman, as he wasn’t keen on knowing another man touching you in such an intimate place. You told him that you had been referred to a physiotherapist and was going to see a specialist in vaginal diseases.

With time you hurt less and less, and it was with the support from your sister and Sy that you continued the different treatments the doctors gave you. You stretched out muscles in your abdominal area. You used soap that was for intimate use only. You even started using an anaesthetic gel to relax the nerves in your vagina by Sy’s recommendation. You had cursed him all the way to hell the first time you’d used it, even as far as telling him that it burnt worse than the alcohol shot he made you drink at the Hot Pot restaurant. You were walking like you’d ridden a horse all day long until the burning stopped after a few minutes, and Sy had kept his laughter to himself, not wanting to hurt your feelings, but when you had started giggling from looking at yourself in the mirror, he couldn’t stop the roaring laughter either.

Sy was very helpful when you were exercising. He had made the stretching into a game of some sort. You might not be having sex, but you could still tease each other, orally or with your hands, anything to build intimacy between the two of you. He was determined to make the process sexy and fun, not dull and boring.

You asked him to penetrate you a few times but had to tell him to pull out because the pain became too intense. Sy was extremely understanding, and he helped you through the crying afterwards, as you felt that you were never going to heal again. He loved that you were comfortable enough around him to tell him to stop, and you felt so safe with him.

It became your goal not only to have sex but to be penetrated without the pain. And you would get there eventually. For now, you would just bask in the afterglow of a good make-out session with Lucas on the sofa.

You had always felt that there was a part of you missing, a vital part, and now, with Lucas, you felt whole. You couldn’t go a day without at least texting him, saying you missed him, or when you were together, and he went to the bathroom, you missed him. When you had to go home the following day after a night of cuddling, you missed him the minute you walked out the door. Both of you felt like you were addicted to the other. It was almost becoming an obsession.

Life with a boyfriend like Sy was amazing, incredible, fantastic. He was everything you needed without having known it. And Lucas loved to have someone he could take care of, protect and maybe even love. Sy had never felt this way about anyone before. It was a fantastic feeling to have this wonderful woman he could call his girlfriend. His.

Not only were you an extraordinary human being: you also loved animals just as much as he did. If you were allowed animals in the apartment you lived in with your sister, you would have filled it already. Sy had let out a breath of relief when you’d told him. You and Aika had become cuddle buddies whenever you were visiting Lucas. The German Shepherd would completely ignore Sy and follow you around instead, and Lucas was only happy to share his girl with his other girl. The sense of having found you excited him, completed him and made him so happy.

There are two kinds of tired: one that needs a good night's sleep and one that needs so much more. Lucas fell into the second category. He was both physically and mentally exhausted from a long and hard day at work, and he also had to face the guilt for ruining your plans for a quiet dinner.

“Plans are made to be changed,” you told him when he called you to cancel your dinner plans and suggest grabbing something to eat and spend the evening at his place instead.

"And I really like the sound of staying in and just cuddling with you, big bear," you whispered in your phone so your colleagues wouldn’t hear you.

"Big bear?"

"Yes, you're massive, hairy and just like a big cuddly teddy bear," finishing the phrase you noticed that one of your colleagues, Rita, was looking at you, chuckling at your big bear comment. You cleared your throat and with all the seriousness you could muster you told Sy: “I can’t talk right now. Call me when you get here,” and quickly ended the call, turning to her, “he’s an activist for the conservation of big brown bears.”

“Yeah, right,” she laughed. “Have fun with your bear-man, girl, you don’t need to explain yourself.” She winked at you and went about her work.

To your dismay, Lucas didn’t follow your instructions and decided that would be the day he showed his face to your work coming into the library to pick you up. He walked into the place, standing tall, his long strides and posture showing a sense of confidence and ease. He was as handsome as always, in his dress jacket, white shirt and jeans. Upon entering the library, he took off his sunglasses revealing his cobalt blue stare that made people stop in their tracks and this time was no different.

“Oh my God!” You heard your colleague gasping next to you when she laid eyes upon him. A small grin formed on your face to her reaction. You watched your man getting closer, noticing that his face looked tired, something only you would notice. The moment your eyes met a warm, sweet smile spread on his gorgeous lips, lighting up his face.

“Do they accept new members in the bear conservation club?” She asked not too loud, but loud enough for Sy to hear, who was standing right in front of you now. You blushed from embarrassment and broke eye contact with him. His soft laughter brought your eyes back on him.

"Sadly all positions have been filled up," he countered looking directly at you with a lopsided grin. “Ready to go home, sunshine?” You nodded excited, picking up your things quickly and moving on Lucas’ side, looping your arm around his offered elbow.

“Have a good evening, Rita,” you said giddily, looking back at her as she was fanning herself trying to cool off to the sight of Sy’s behind.

"What would you like to eat for dinner?" Sy asked as he opened the car door.

"You," you whispered silently.

In the shower, the water came down warm and soothing, washing the weariness and bad energy of the day off of Lucas’ body. He took some time for himself to relax and find his balance again. But the thought of you sitting on the other side of the wall made him impatient. He needed to be close to you.

Aika whimpered at you, licking your fingers and begging for another treat. You were lying on Sy’s bed, flipping through channels, nibbling at the leftovers of your Chinese takeout, with a comfortable, fluffy pillow behind you, soft and crisp sheets underneath you and Aika laying across your lap, sharing the guilty pleasure of eating in bed with you.

“Shhh, girl! Do you want him to hear us?” You whispered at her, feeding her another bite of the delicious potstickers you had for dinner. She gulped the treat and then licked your hand in gratitude. “Eating in bed is the best, right Aika?” You told her in a colluding way, scratching your accomplice behind her ears. You knew that Sy didn’t approve of eating in bed nor sharing food with Aika, so you both were on the lookout for when he would finish his shower. You didn’t want him to find out the ‘magic tricks’ you had used to gain Aika’s trust so fast.

The moment you heard Sy turning off the water, you both jumped up, Aika taking her usual place at the foot end of the bed acting all cool, and you ran to hide the evidence in the kitchen and wash your hands from the grease. In a minute, you were back in bed pretending you were watching TV. Of course, you had no idea what was on.

“What are my girls doing?” The bathroom door opened, and Sy came out with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. He leaned lazily on the door frame, smiling in all his wet, half-naked glory, making you choke on your own drool. Quickly, you gathered yourself trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“Nothing special, just sitting here and relaxing.”

Sy walked across the room heading for his dresser that was on your side. Your eyes followed every move he made, studying even the tiniest dent and bump his muscles formed. At the view of his butt, a very unladylike sound escaped your throat.

‘Everything ok, sweetheart?” Lucas asked absentmindedly while looking for his underwear.

“Mh-mm,” you nodded, turning your eyes to the TV. There was a short pause after you heard him close the drawer.

“Babe, is there something you want to tell me?” You craned up your head to meet his eyes. His face was serious. The only thing that kept you from worrying was a small twitch of a smile on his lips. Oh, his lips.

“Huh? Like what?” You asked puzzled.

“I don't know, maybe you want to confess something?” Your mind started racing, a hundred thoughts per second: you are so hot, take off that towel, take me now, how lucky can a girl be, you are perfect, I love you. What? Where did that come from?

“Uhh, no. I don’t think so,” you mumbled trying to hide the instant blushing on your face.

“Don’t you think that trust and openness are important, darling?” He leaned over you, his hand running over your jaw. So busted! But how?

“Of course!” You gulped, readying yourself for the revelation.

“Then can you tell me, why are there crumbs on the bed, bug?”

“What?” That was not what you were expecting.

“Aika?” Sy turned to the German shepherd. She whimpered, hiding her snout in her paws and quickly left the room.

“Traitor,” you muttered.

“I thought we had an agreement on this,” Sy spoke softly, putting on his underwear and sweatpants and headed to his side of the bed.

“I want her to like me,” you confessed in a small, guilty voice.

Lying down, Lucas let a deep sigh out, finally being able to relax and cuddle with his girlfriend. He pulled you closer letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Baby, you don’t need to buy her off. I’m sure that Aika loved you the first moment she met you… just like her owner.” Sy’s voice drifted off as he started zoning out, feeling so relaxed in your arms. Your breath caught in your throat, gazing at him like you saw the sun for the first time after an eternity of darkness. You wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words to bring out of your head. The only thing you could utter was:

“Wrap your arms around me,” you felt the need to be close to him, lost in him.

“How’s that?” He murmured with his eyes closed.

“Perfect.” He brought his face in your hair, inhaling deeply from your scent.

“Mmmmm, you smell amazing.” This felt so right to him, holding you and being held. He tightened his arms around you. Being in his embrace felt so soothing, calming and safe to you, that you let out a soft purring sound.

“Did you just purr?” He opened his eyes, a huge grin forming on his face.

“No….”

“I think you did.”

“Uh-oh,” you said lazily, burying your face into his neck.

“Alright. But in case you did, I find it really cute.’’ He let you know in his deep, soft and gentle voice.

“I might have…” Your admission made you both dissolve into laughter allowing you to release all the pent up energy. Once out of your laughing fit, you were both left gazing into each other’s eyes. It was you who made the first move, bringing your hand on his cheeks, your fingers idly playing with the curls in his beard before you kissed him, slowly at first, lips tracing lips, becoming deeper, bolder and more intense as your tongues danced in a passionate rhythm. The moan that escaped his mouth when you finished the kiss, gently biting and tagging his lower lip set you on fire.

Sy felt he was on cloud nine. His head was spinning with giddy happiness. The way your body was moulded to fit him like a puzzle piece. His heart was galloping, his mind was going crazy, his feelings were all over the place with joy and love, he felt loved, so loved. But the minute you moved to sit in his lap, grinding against him as if you were riding a horse, his mind was transported to another place, only thinking about how good the friction between you felt, he wanted so bad to make love to you, to make you feel as good as you were doing to him at the moment.

He was still lost in your kiss, basking in your touch with his eyes closed as you kissed your way from his neck to his ear whispering:

“Baby, I think I'm ready.”

He opened his eyes, blinking lazily. At first, he didn’t understand what you were talking about. He looked straight into your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed with question. You caressed his face softly, waiting for realisation to hit him. The smile on your face, the feeling in your eyes soon let him in on the meaning of your words. His heart had skipped a beat as he truly grasped your words. You saw the surprise register on his face, his breathing quickened, his lips parted ever so slightly, his hands stilling on the lower part of your back and a faint wrinkle showed between his eyebrows. And then immediately his short-lived surprise gave its place to happiness shining through his eyes, fueled with desire as the colour of his blue orbs turned to a dark navy ring around his full-blown pupils.

His arms wrapped around you and you felt him pulling you onto his chest. You could feel the urgency in his movements, there was raw emotion in the way his fingers curled around the fabric of your dress. He claimed your lips once again, kissing you deeply, absorbing every detail of the moment, your scent, the weight of your body against his, all the feelings that were washing over him, raising a wave of heat inside him.

The taste of him stripped you from all your thoughts, fears and senses. His kiss, hungry and intense, ignited a fire inside you. Your palms were flat on his chest, your fingers were trying to dig into his skin as if wanting to hold on for dear life before you let go of all inhibitions and get lost in him. His hands trailed down your neck, never releasing your mouth from the hot, wet kiss he had you captured. Your body reacted to his touch, sending shivers down your spine and making you moan. You brought your hands to his deep brown curls, carding your fingers through them, tugging at his roots, to feel a little bit of control as your sanity was in the balance of tipping over. The little pain that he experienced made him exude more lust, he loved how you took control, as he could unwind and let you loose.

With one strong arm around your waist, he gathered you up and moved you both to a sitting position, letting you sit astride his lap. His fingers dug into your hips and pulled you closer to him, pressing your core to his straining bulge. You couldn’t help but grind against him, letting your instinct take over. Your kissing grew more passionate, more urgent, muffled moans and gasps filling the room. Sy brought his hands on your breast, kneading the soft flesh over the light fabric of your sundress and realising that you had no bra on. A throaty noise escaped him as he broke the kiss, looking at you with blazing eyes.

“You had it planned all along, you little minx!” he growled, his thumbs tracing your perky nipples through the thin layer, weakening your core, making you lean your forehead against his for purchase. He could feel the warmth coming off your skin through the lite fabric, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to touch you, he wanted to see the delicate, subtle flesh of your breasts.

You could feel the feral animosity inside him, as you kept grinding your core to his groin. You had never seen him like this before. His hands were eager to touch more than just your dress. Before you could think about taking the dress off, it was ripped from your chest, the fierce action kicking the breath out of you. Buttons flew in every direction and landed on the soft carpeted floor.

“That was my favourite dress,” you said in a shuddering voice, watching him take in the image of your naked body like a starving beast.

“Payback time,” he snarled. He studied you, running a finger over your breastbone slowly down to your stomach, his eyes following the invisible trail his touch burnt on your skin. He left a wet kiss on your chest and licked his way to one of your nipples, taking it into his mouth, torturing it with his tongue and tugging it with his teeth making it even harder. Although his moves were slow, you could feel how aroused and ravenous he was, his breathing shallow and fast just like yours. You closed your eyes, burying your face in his hair, feeling him everywhere; his lips on your breasts, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your lower back, his erection stirring between your legs. His scent and taste defined your reality now.

Sliding your hand between your bodies and pressing firmly on his arousal made him growl like a wild animal against your skin. He looked up at you with lustful eyes ordering you to take off your clothes. The demand in his husky voice stole your breath for a second. He commanded and needed you at the same time. You stood up obediently, let the dress fall down to your ankles, slowly peeled off your panties down your legs and stepped out of them with small moves while watching him watching you.

You crawled back onto the bed languidly, wrapping your fingers at the waistband of his sweatpants, removing them slowly along with his black boxer briefs, revealing his throbbing manhood and his muscular thighs. He stared at your face through half-lidded eyes with desire, taking in how you ran your tongue over your lips at the sight of the glistening precum that oozed from the top of the head, showing your eagerness to taste him.

He pulled you against his body, holding you close, feeling the warmth of your body skin on skin, your breasts pressed into his chest and his erection straining against your body. His lips captured yours in a deep passionate kiss, owning your very existence.

“The things I wanna do to you, right now,” he moaned in your mouth, locking eyes with you.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to make you come. Hard.”

“Mmm, how?” you purred, biting your lower lip to the suggestion. His eyes fell on your lips again and a small wicked grin appeared on his.

“Ride my face and I’ll show you,” his voice low and heavy with desire. His words sparked an adventurous excitement inside you, making your heart start racing. A bold smile appeared on your face taking up his challenge and the look of awe in the doctor’s eyes gave you the courage to move over, stride his beard, facing towards his body. His strong hands guided your knees on either side of his head and then trailed over your body, adoring every inch of it.

The beautiful close up of your dripping core mere inches from his eager mouth made him salivate, yearning for the taste of you. His tongue started tracing the inner of your thighs, writing small circles on the sensitive skin, lazily finding his way to your lips, licking, sucking, and making them beautifully wet. But his hands on your butt cheeks, kneading the round flesh with fervour showed you that he was impatient to dive into the main course immediately.

A warm, coiled tension started building up inside you, feeling your muscles quivering in anticipation. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding on the soft bristles of his beard, the variation in textures making you weak. You leaned slightly forward, putting your hands on his stomach to hold on, the small change in angle intensifying the sensation and giving him more space to navigate. You couldn’t tell the difference between his lips or tongue. All you could feel was just a nice, sloppy warm mess. A loud gasp escaped you when you felt his tongue run over your opening, lapping your juices.

“You taste like honey,” he grunted into your core, the vibration of his bass hitting you hard. He didn’t wait for you to answer, he went on with his smooth, wet and warm stimulation. When he hit your clit, your whole body shuddered in his tight grip. The effect he had on you made his cock jump. You leaned lower, putting your mouth on him, your fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft. You felt his body jerk upon contact and he tried to drown a curse clenching his teeth, causing you to laugh around him. But you didn’t stop, taking him deeper, giving him the attention he needed.

For a moment, he let himself get lost in your ministrations, having your eager, soft tongue wrapped around him, eyes closed, moaning deep, feeling he was growing bigger and harder in your mouth. You took advantage of his openness and brought your hand over his sack, massaging it softly, accelerating the pace, your tongue twirling around his glands every time your lips were around his head.

“Fuck!”

His hips thrust up involuntarily, searching to go deeper into the wetness of your mouth. You felt like you had the upper hand, loving the power he granted you over him, the naughty side of you wanting to make this a race of who was going to come first. But you should have known better, Sy wouldn’t let you have this one. He pressed his tongue flat on your core, intensifying the sensation and then ran it over your opening and sliding it inside you. You couldn’t keep the needy moan from escaping, feeling his tongue teasing your moist entrance and penetrating you.

Your focus was lost and so was your balance. You leaned your forehead on his pelvis, concentrating on all the pleasure he was giving you, stroking him slowly with your hand.

"Don't stop,” you whimpered, feeling the warmth of your orgasm spreading all over you. He pulled you closer against his face and shoved his tongue deeper inside you, fucking you at a frantic pace while his beard set your clit on fire. Your legs started trembling, his firm grip not allowing you to move away from him, the light tremors of your orgasm building into an earthquake, making you shudder and scream.

“God, Luc! Your tongue is magical,” you gasped as you collapsed on the bed, panting with your eyes closed. You heard his deep chuckle and felt the bed shift as he moved over, lying next to you. His arm wrapped around your waist and he scattered small kisses on your shoulder and collarbone, his beard wet from your nectar left a cooling sensation on your skin. You turned to face him, bringing your hand on his jaw, guiding him into a deep kiss. His kisses were always a delicious treat but now that you tasted yourself on his lips and tongue, it made you feel amazing and aroused again.

Never breaking your kiss, Sy laid on top of you, his weight spreading your legs apart. You couldn’t stop your hands from tracing his taut body, relishing in the texture of his muscles. You could feel he was tense, his strength, his heat increasing as he was taking over you and you couldn’t get enough of it. You needed this. You wanted to watch his face as he came inside you, to have his sweat all over you and you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. And neither could he.

He fought to control his movements and the urge to claim you hard, pouring all his passion on you. He needed his mind to take over the primal, animal instinct he was feeling at that moment. He was too far gone by now, his whole body aflame. Your voice brought him back.

“Lucas,” you whispered more breath than voice.

“Say it again. Say my name,” he said in your ear, his voice a low groan.

“Lucas, do it.”

His expression was one of intense concentration, replaced by wide sensation, as he eased slowly inside you. His thrust was slow, gentle, allowing your body to get used to his size and open up for him. You took in a deep breath as your body prepared for that familiar feeling of pain to come and tensed up but his kisses, his bites, his touch, his fire engulfed you, making you relax and forget about everything. Without even being aware of it, your pelvises touched and there you were, one deep inside the other. The realization alone made you both gasp, staring at each other with awe.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sy murmured, the overwhelming feeling choking him.

You paused for a moment, running a mental check before nodding faintly and breathing: “More”.

Sy took a moment trying to catch his breath and allowing you to catch yours. Eventually, your bodies unwinded and your breaths almost synced. With slow, soft thrusts he started moving inside you, claiming your mouth at the same slow, languid pace. Your bodies now were the closest they could be. The intense feeling of your tightness made him moan against your lips.

“I can feel every muscle inside you moving,” he gasped, “and it feels fucking incredible.”

"I love the way you feel inside me," you said, your voice giving away a slight hint of breaking, feeling a lump in your throat. You just needed to say it, tell him before your heart burst.

"I love the way I feel inside you," he let out a low content groan, not picking up your emotional overload.

"I love that I can trust you," you went on, closing your eyes trying to contain your feelings, trying to find comfort in his motions, rocking back and forth inside you.

The tears in your voice were more evident, making Sy stop and look at you with worry on his face.

"Baby... Look at me."

You couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes, you didn't want to ruin this moment for both of you.

"It's OK, bug. I'm here for you. Open your eyes."

"I love how you are always here for me," you gasped an intense sob ripping through you. "I-I love... you."

His eyes travelled from your lips forming those three words to your eyes, gazing inside them, finding your soul and claiming it as his own. He saw you, really, truly saw you and loved what was there. He tenderly caressed your face with his fingertips, wiping away the trail of your tears. He placed a feathery kiss on your lips and whispered:

"I love you too."

[itsbeenahellofayear]

what we got, it don't come easy

Summary: Some things are easy, some things aren't. It can take time to learn what is important.

Warnings: Smut. Maybe not as much as you'd expect from a story thats pretty much only about sex. Some feelings. Language.

Author's Note: It took a while to get this one across the line. The first segment has been written for weeks, but I lacked inspiration, motivation, and was a little burnt out on anything Leaf related for a little bit there. RIP 2021 season....

Thanks to all of you who kept checking in and were enthusiastic about the little snippet I posted. Kind of kicked my writing into gear today!

I crave your feedback - this is weird and disjointed and very personal in a lot of ways, so I'd love to hear what you think!

---

Sex with Auston is easy - that's never been the issue between you.

This thing started with sex - you connected on tinder, got to talking for a couple of days, then went out for drinks.... That wound up with him in your bed, having arguably the best sex of your life.

That first night, lying hot and sweaty and completely satiated, you'd be lying if the thought didn't cross your mind that you could do this for the rest of your life.

It was that good.

-

You don't keep a list of things to try, but you kind of keep a list of things to try.

-

Some things that make the sex with Auston so good:

He's the first guy to encourage you to use your vibrator on your clit while he's fucking you - it's not every single time - sometimes coordination isn't possible when he's fucking into you so good but those times when he's pressing deep into you, hands on your breasts, grip firm just the way you like, and you've just got your vibe pressed to your clit on a low setting and you just shake apart.... Those are good times.

His dick is huge. Like he's big to start, but then he grows. It honestly took a bit of work to find angles that didn't have him ramming your cervix each time, but once you did... He fills you up so good.

He loves to eat you out. You've had your fair share of mediocre oral, but there's something about the way he just goes for it, lets you twist your fingers in his too long hair, makes these little noises into you, that just really does it for you. He'll open you up with his thumbs and just dive his tongue deep inside of you, then move up and basically caress your clit with his tongue. If you're honest you can't even fathom what he's actually doing, it just feels insane.

He lets you ride his face. Now, it's not an every time thing, mostly because if you're going to expend energy on riding him, really what you want is his cock buried inside your aching slit. But sometimes, he'll settle himself on the bed, and you'll just climb on top of him, grip the headboard, and just ride.

-

You might love him.

(Maybe that's why it's good)

-

So the sex has never been the problem.

The problem lies in the in between bits.

In the moments when you're feeling insecure about his fame, and his looks, and the company he keeps. You're not a party girl - you'll go out to the bar once in a while, but people, everywhere, is not really your scene. You know he likes to go out, especially after wins. You know he likes to drink. And sure, sometimes he'll text you, and he'll end up at your place late at night. But sometimes he won't. And so you wonder.

It's also the moments where he just shuts down, internalizes, and won't communicate. You're not one for talking about your feelings, but you do believe in communicating when it's about things that affect someone else! Case in point: you send him a message in the morning on what you know is his off day - he doesn't even read it let alone respond until 8pm. You had asked him if he wanted to meet up for afternoon drinks.

It's also the moments when he says stupid immature shit, when you realize that, no matter how great a family he comes from, he's still a rich, entitled man-child that doesn't really understand the value of a dollar. And that irks you.

A lot.

-

But.

You're just fooling around - keeping it casual.

But.

-

He takes you out to the cottage with some of his boys. The season ended in heartbreak, they're splitting up for the summer, they want to blow off some steam.

You spend the days lazing by the lake, lying in hammocks in the yard, sneaking off for a "picnic" in the woods. And by picnic you mean Auston laid you out on a blanket and ate you out until you couldn't take it.

You spend the nights getting high sitting out by the fire, leaving unsubtly to go back inside to fuck.

It's probably around day 3 when you realize you're legitimately, 100% in love with this guy.

Day 5 you head back to the city, and haven't really talked to him about how you feel.

He leaves for Arizona the next morning.

-

He's not your boyfriend.

He doesn't know you fell for him.

-

The first night you had sex with him – the first night of the rest of your life – you remember thinking you've never felt this full.

Now, months later, you feel like you're empty.

Anytime you think of him, it's like your pussy just clenches involuntarily around what it thinks should be there, inside of you.

You want him so badly, so deeply, and you don't even have a real claim to him because you couldn't open up and tell him that something had changed.

You catch yourself scrolling insta late at night, looking to see if he's posted something that might hint he's out with someone else.

You hate that you're like this.

-

(You never see anything, for the record)

-

He comes back to Toronto in August.

That honestly catches you by surprise.

More so because you're just home on a Saturday afternoon, watching TV when he knocks on your door. Pretty much the last person you were expecting to see, but you can't deny that your heart ends up in your throat at the sight of him, tanned, bulked up, and looking at you like THAT.

"What..." you start.

"Faith" he breathes out.

You don't understand.

He walks forward into your apartment, crowding you back against the other wall of your tiny entryway.

You're still so caught up in him being here. The way he said your name...

You look up at him.

He just presses himself against you and crushes you to him in a hug. You feel him everywhere. The faint spicy scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the puff of his breath against your neck where his head is pressing.

Engulfed - your brain provides.

"I missed you" he mutters into your neck.

-

Your brain is going a mile a minute.

How is he here? Why didn't he tell you he was coming back? He doesn't need to be back for weeks. Why is he here? What is happening?

You push him back a little. Not off of you entirely, just enough to give you some space to breathe.

"Auston, what?" You try again.

He looks down at you.

Swallows.

"I..." He starts.

Swallows again.

"I needed to see you, Faith."

He looks... Nervous?

"Aus... What's going on?" You ask him, heart racing out of your chest.

He swears.

"I might be reading this thing wrong, this thing we have, but... I want you to be mine."

You feel like you've been hit with a brick.

All you can do is stare at him as your mind struggles to keep up. You feel yourself reaching for him.

"Aus. Yes. Of course."

He blinks. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You reach for his hand and pull him to the bedroom.

-

Sex is easy, with you and Auston.

You've never been afraid to ask for what you want. He's never been shy to ask for what he wants. And usually that lines up.

But for the first time since all this started, you feel almost shy with him.

Without discussing it, you both get naked pretty damn quickly. There's a second or twenty where you're just looking at him, drinking in his broad shoulders, his stomach muscles, his trim hips and his thick thighs. God, do you want him.

You might say that last part out loud, from the way he laughs and just picks you up and tosses you on the bed.

You've been soaked since you opened your door, and you're impatient to feel him again. He looks at you and you just whimper his name and he smiles, hitches up your legs, and slides slowly, so slowly, inside you

“Fuck, Aus" you hear yourself.

"You feel so good, baby" he groans out, letting you get used to him stretching you out, leaning down to press a filthy open-mouthed kiss to your lips. He bites at your lips as he starts to move, driving into you in a rhythm that makes you feel so good, hitting you just right.

It’s not enough.

But before you can say anything, Auston pulls back, and changes the angle that your hips are lined up with his and suddenly he’s impossibly deeper, and you just can’t breathe with how good he feels and his hands are on your breasts, and he’s pinching your nipples just right, and you are moaning his name almost like a prayer, and it just slips out.

“Aus, I love you.”

You don’t even realize what you said until he stills for a moment, eyes snapping to yours, and he makes this noise.

“Do you mean it,” he asks.

Its not the time for it, but you’re never going to be his open another time so… “Yeah.”

“God, baby. Yes. I love you too. It’s why I came back. I just wasn’t sure…”

He moves back so he can kiss you, deep and filthy. You feel him, deep inside you, and you just… cling to him. He starts fucking into you in earnest - hard and fast, kissing you the whole time, though it ends up being more like just panting into each others mouths but you can’t get enough of him.

“I’m so close,” you manage to get out.

Auston gets a hand between you and presses his thumb to your clit and you just hear yourself keening.

“I love how you feel around me,” he groans out. “Come for me.”

It doesn’t take long.

You shake apart underneath him, and you feel him pulse inside you and it’s just so much and you can feel tears leaking out from the corner of your eyes, and you just feel so much in that moment.

It’s so much.

-

So sex has never been an issue.

But now it is so much more.

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

someplace new

Summary: "There's a whole world out there for us! There are cold and shallow seas! There are deep seas with strange creatures and seas with mounds of earth that spit out water! There are huge coral reefs and fish of all colors and seas with the bones of enormous ships lying in the sand!"

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

She was not a friendly creature, Bucky thought of the siren he had recently acquainted himself with. She preferred to spend her days swimming and singing her song for any human that she could entrap. She could dive into deeper waters than Bucky, who hated her whenever she left him alone for even a moment. Mer were never alone, and it was a difficult adjustment for Bucky. He was used to sleeping next to his brothers or hunting with his father. His The siren preferred to hunt alone, and whenever Bucky tried to sleep next to her, she would wiggle away. Touching was a different issue altogether. She swam away anytime that Bucky would even brush against her. That was difficult too. Bucky was used to touch and being touched by his pod mates. It must have been a lonely life to be a siren. Although she sure was a remarkable thing, Bucky couldn't deny that. The lights that glowed from her at nighttime drew him in, and he was beginning to see why it was easy for human males to fall under her spell. She was beautiful in a terrifying way that thrilled Bucky to his very being. Her claws and teeth were much sharper than his, and her tailfin moved like that of a shark. Her eyes were too big for her pretty face. She rarely spoke, but when she did, Bucky yearned.

They had been together for two months now. Bucky was unable to leave her nor coax her to come with him back to his pod. She was continuing to starve; he could see it. Fish didn't satiate her in the way they did him. Bucky's worry rapidly increased day by day as he watched her grown gaunt, and her skin turned hazy blue rather than silvery grey.

"You okay?" he asked her one night as she swam underneath him, singing in frustration.

"No," she said.

"Will ya come back up for a minute? I wanna talk to you about somethin.'"

"No."

"Just for a sec. Please, my pretty one?" Bucky whined. "I miss ya."

"I am hunting."

"It's been two tides. You've been swimmin' down there in the dark for ages."

He heard her sigh:

"I will be up soon."

After that, Bucky heard no more from her. He floated aimlessly amongst a school of bluefish tuna as he waited, rehearsing what he would say once she was next to him again. He was going to propose that they move to a new destination. A destination where Bucky was sure humans would be more readily available for her consumption. He knew of a great many places in the seas of the world where no siren had ever been spotted. The humans of this area knew of something evil that lurked in the waters around their town. They'd heard her calls, saw the blood in the water, mourned those that became her victims. She had been here too long, and the humans were growing more innovative every day. Once they moved on, Bucky was sure she would find willing prey.

It seemed to take her ages to swim upwards. Bright pinpricks of white light were what finally caught Bucky's attention. He waited as she rose through the water, her tail swishing lazily. Once in a brighter part of the water, she opened her eyes, squinting as she tried to adjust. Like most deep-sea creatures, she had no use for eyes. Unlike most deep-sea creatures, however, she had the distinct advantage of having them and the ability to keep them closed unconsciously in some way that Bucky didn't know. It was daytime, and Bucky watched as her lights dimmed and flickered under the weak sunlight. As soon as she was near enough, Bucky swam straight through the school of tuna to meet her.

"Anythin'?" he asked.

"No," she said. Her skin looked bluer than ever.

Bucky took a deep breath. "So, I was thinking, and you can tell me to back off if I'm bein' dumb, but I was thinkin' that you're starvin.' It's been weeks since you've had a decent meal an' months since you've even caught a human, which isn't your fault. I just think they know what hangs out around here, an' I know that other sirens have other territories around this area, so I was thinkin' what if we went somewhere else?"

"Somewhere else?"

"Yeah, not this spot, not even this sea."

She looked confused. "There are other seas?"

"Oh," he said because he wasn't expecting her not to know. "Yeah, there are plenty. There's a whole other world out there."

"I have never been anywhere else."

"Would ya like to?"

"I do not know."

Bucky held out his hand. "Will you come with me?"

She went quiet, thinking about his offer for so long that Bucky became restless again. (Mer, unlike sirens, were very impatient creatures). He flicked his tail in irritation, trying to get her to hurry up. Finally, she agreed.

"Yes," she said.

Overwhelmed with delight, Bucky did several unique spins, flipping his hair and showing off his tail in a futile attempt to impress her. She watched him impassively. She was either oblivious or unconcerned with his courtship display; Bucky could not tell which. But no matter. He was taking her away from this place, and they'd live together for the rest of their days! He'd find her shiny things and make a permanent home for her on a bed of the softest kelp, and the warmest sand Bucky could find! Then when the time was right, he would offer her his shell, and they would mate under the golden light of the sun! It was bliss.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they began to swim.

"Anywhere we want! We got a whole world to explore! There are cold seas, shallow and deep seas, and seas with huge mounds of earth that spit out the hottest water! There are huge coral reefs and fish of all colors! There are seas with the bones of enormous ships lying in the sand too!" Bucky said excitedly. "Where d'you wanna go first?"

"Wherever there are humans."

"There are humans everywhere."

"Then it is your choice."

"There is a sea that mer call inhospitable 'cause, we say, the deeper you go, the harder it is to breathe. There are fragments of ships down at the bottom."

Bucky observed her, noticing as some feeling or thought he had never seen before appeared in her eyes. Then, much to his surprise, she smiled. Her lips twisted strangely around her teeth like she had forgotten how to do it, but it was, indeed, a smile. Bucky should have been petrified at how many deadly teeth she seemed to possess, but he wasn't. She was stunning, and Bucky reveled at the sight of her. He itched to get her into a cave, just the two of them. He would bring her shiny things, and she would look at him the way she was now.

"The ships," she said decisively, noticing how strange she sounded.

She realized that this was the first decision (that had nothing to do with hunting) she had made in a while. It made her feel wrong in a way that she could not explain. She wanted to see other places. She was curious, but why was she feeling that way? Was the sway of this beautiful mer already getting to her? Impulsively, as though her body was not her own, she brushed her hand against his just as he did when they first met. She felt his eyes on her but kept hers straight ahead, determined not to look at him. Their hands were still touching, and then he coiled his fingers around hers.

"The water over there is much colder," Bucky said softly, not wanting to scare her with his voice and have her pull her hand away. "An' the salinity is a bit different. Just let me know if you feel weird or anythin', alright?"

"Yes," she answered. Her hand stayed in Bucky's hand. "How long?"

"Few days. I can't swim as fast as you."

She nodded, saying nothing, which was how they spent the next three hours. Bucky continued prattling on, pointing out this thing and that thing. He told her about his little sister Rebecca and his best friends, Steve and Sam. He regaled her in fantastic stories of their adventures and misdeeds in protecting the pod. Mer tended to embellish such tales, and Bucky was no exception as he crafted a story about him fighting off a giant sea monster single-handedly. As he told the tale, he noticed her looking at him dubiously.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Such a creature cannot exist," she said.

"A Cthulu can't exist?"

"Yes. A creature shaped like a human and an octopus, with the wings of a dragon? What is a dragon, anyway?" she asked.

That was the longest string of words she had said to Bucky in days. He was elated.

"A huge, serpent-like creature that spits fire," he said.

"No creature that lives can breathe fire."

"Humans say we don't exist," Bucky said. "Are ya callin' me a liar?"

She shrugged. "I am not sure what that means."

"Fine, fine, you got me. It was a giant squid."

"I see."

"I did get suckered pretty hard, though," said Bucky, puffing out his chest in pride. "I got the scars to prove it. Ma was scared when I came back all bloody."

"Ma?" she asked.

"My mother."

"You have a mother?"

Bucky nodded. "'Course, everything does."

"I do not."

"But you had one once, right?"

"Once."

"What was she like?" Bucky asked eagerly.

Her lips parted, and she took a deep breath.

"She… She tried to protect me from the human men at first. But they took what they wanted from me and left me to drown. I remember dying and hearing her tell me to be brave and believe in the sea. The Gods blessed me, and I was reborn."

"Oh, I- I had no idea; I'm so sorry I brought it up," Bucky stammered, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. His poor, sweet siren. She had been through so much.

"I do not remember her."

Again, they drifted into silence. Bucky was upset when she slid her hand from his and began drifting downward into deeper water, where he could not follow. He wanted to beg for her to come back. He didn't mean to talk about such things; he had simply been eager to hear more about her! Knowing what he knew now, he felt anger wash over him. How dare those raiders act that way? What kind of creatures were the humans that did such awful things? Despicable is what they were! They were nothing more than- than- phytoplankton! Small, insignificant cowards that did not care who they hurt! Damn them!

"Are those men still alive?" he spat angrily.

"I killed them," she replied from underneath him.

"I'd kill their descendants if I could."

"Why?"

"Whaddya mean why? Nothin' hurts you! Anythin' hurts you again; you tell me an' I'll kill it, you hear me?" Bucky snarled.

From the deep, she began to sing. It was a new song, one Bucky had never heard from her, and he stopped his ranting to listen. It washed over him, replacing the anger with quiet peace, and oh. She was reassuring him in the best way that she knew how. Warmth bloomed in Bucky's chest, and he felt his face heating for an entirely different reason. She was trying to thank him. He wondered if she knew it too. Bucky smiled, glancing below him to watch as she rose back up to join him.

She continued to sing, taking his hand once again. Once her song was over, and without even thinking about it, Bucky thrust his hand into the pouch tied around his waist.

"Here," he said, shoving his mating shell into her hand, his belly reddening.

"What for?"

Bucky froze, scrambling for a false explanation. Because, just his luck, she had no idea what he had been trying to convey to her. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth. It hadn't even been three months, and he was already prepared to settle down with her!

"Er, uh, w-well, I told ya that a pretty thing needs pretty things, right? I, uh, I found it an' thought you, er, deserved it? Yeah, I thought you deserved it."

"It is very shiny. Thank you, Bucky."

She rarely said his name. Bucky had fallen hard if only hearing her say his damn name was driving him nuts. He could feel his stomach heating the longer she looked at him. He wiggled a little bit at her stare. She raised a confused eyebrow, looking like she wanted to ask questions Bucky wasn't ready to answer. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. They both stopped swimming.

"Oh," she said. "A kiss? "

"Mhm," said Bucky, boldly wrapping his tail around hers. "A kiss."

"May I give one back?"

"Please."

She lifted Bucky's hand to her lips and pressed her mouth to the back of it. Her teeth bit into his skin. Bucky winced.

"No, like this, with no teeth," he explained kindly, showing her.

She curled her lips entirely over her teeth and mashed her mouth against Bucky's hand.

"No, not quite. Tilt your head a little an' put your lips like this, see?" said Bucky.

With immense concentration, she tilted her head and fixed her lips, kissing Bucky just right. He couldn't help the shiver that raced down his spine, even though the kiss was only on his hand.

"Good," he said weakly. "Perfect. "

"I am hungry." She was unruffled.

"Wait! Usually, a kiss is on the mouth, remember?"

Bucky's tail tightened around hers, and he pressed their chests together. His hand darted out, and he tenderly cupped her cheek, being careful of her lure. Her skin was hard as a handful of gold coins and twice as beautiful. He watched as she followed his lead, hesitant in her motions.

She wasn't used to touching, but she didn't mind it so much when it was this mer. His skin was soft where she touched his cheek and pressed her thumb into the divet in his chin. She knew her flesh was hard, and she wondered if he hated the feeling of it. Before she could pull away, Bucky kissed her. She stiffened before she relaxed under his lips, following his lead until she felt warm from head to tailfin.

Bucky wasn't faring much better. He was glad that the water was cold and that her attention was somewhere else because his belly was so warm that he was sure it was flashing a bright red. He made a soft noise and melted in her arms. She was a swift learner, the smart thing that she was. Bucky nibbled at her bottom lip and slipped his tongue into her mouth. He found out quite quickly that, just like a shark, she did not have a tongue. It was a strange sensation, kissing a creature without a tongue in her mouth, but Bucky quickly got used to it. He found out that she liked to nip when she caught his tongue between her sharp teeth. Bucky groaned, winding his arms around her and biting her back. Eventually, they broke apart and looked at each other.

"Wow," said Bucky, swooning.

"A kiss, yes?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yes, that was a kiss. Goddamn, you learn fast."

He hadn't let her go. He couldn't let her go, not after that. She was already free of his embrace, although she kept hold of his hand, which was a start.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, sounding nervous.

Confused, Bucky nodded.

"Can I help?"

"Yes," she agreed, tugging him behind her. "Come. "

Following right behind her, Bucky became lost in thought. He may have acted rashly by giving her his shell, but now he was confident that she was the one for him. Still, he had no idea how even to broach such a topic. Did she know what mating was? Was she willing to spend the rest of her days with him? He thought it was not the best time to ask and instead followed behind her, eager to watch her in action.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Sooo, I think this is turning into an actual story guys. I have ideas for where this can go and one of them needs names to work so... yeah they are becoming OCs... Whumpee, Caretaker and Whumper are getting names next part because I’m indecisive and need to think on it lol but for this one, since I’ve been giving them more thought and shape: they are all men and the pronouns are ‘he’ now, okay? 

CW: needle mention, medical setting, infected wound, restrained and collared, held hostage, lots of angst because this is what this whole thing is about in the end, isn’t it?

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot (please tell me if you want me to stop or start tagging you <3)

Continued from here

-

There was a time when Whumpee could move and not feel pain because of it. When it didn’t hurt to do so much as breathe. There was a time when time didn’t blend together in an endless daze of please help me, it hurts.

He knows exactly where the pain comes from, that spot a knife had gone inside of him… days before? Weeks? But by now, it has spread along his entire body, and it all just hurts so much.

If only he could press his hands against the wound, see if it looks as ugly as it feels. If only he could curl up and sob. If only his hands weren’t tied above his head and he could move at all, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

His fingers have gone cold and numb what feels like hours before. He shifts and squirms but it only makes his wound burst in pain and barely anything for his aching arms. After some time, the pain is in his legs as well and if only he could move, just for a moment, it would be so much better. 

His head hangs awkwardly to the side, unable to move more than a few inches, kept close to the wall by the metal collar around his neck. He can’t sleep with it, because each time he does, his head hangs and he wakes up suffocating. He can’t move, because it hurts. All he can do is hope Whumper doesn’t forget he’s here.

So Whumpee just stares at nothing, wondering if the pain will ever fade, and only when it gets truly unbearable does he allow himself to think of Caretaker.

He’s left him here to rot. As he did before, as Whumpee should’ve known he would. 

But this pain is a lot deeper than the stabbing could ever be, so Whumpee closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing through the molten lava seeping into his bloodstream.

Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t, and Whumpee can’t focus on anything for long enough to know anything but pain. 

It’s a strange combination, the desperate need to move his cramped arms, restless legs, but also the bone-deep weakness he feels, the certainty that even if he wasn’t chained to the wall, he wouldn’t have the strength to do more than curl up on the floor. 

It all comes back to murmured pleas for mercy that are never heard, until even his voice is raw and aching and he just goes back to leaning limply against the wall and relishing the few minutes he gets of sleep.

Eventually, his tiny cell fills with noise and his eyes flutter open to find Whumper towering over him.

He’s only half awake, the other half refuses to swim out of the deep waters of troubled sleep, but as if through a thick layer of glass, Whumpee manages to discern a few words.

“…infection,” someone says, somewhere distant. “Shit, get the doctor, I–“

He only truly wakes up when the chains are unlocked and he’s hauled up, the only thing keeping him standing the unforgiving hands gripping his arms. People keep speaking, but he’s so consumed by pain that all Whumpee can hear is his own desperate whimpers as they move his inert body. 

-

Whumper isn’t smiling when Caretaker enters his office, for once.

“Took you long enough. Do you have what I asked for?”

“What you bribed me for, you mean?” Caretaker bites back, clutching the drive filled with information his team never expected him to leak. “Let me see Whumpee first.”

“We had a bit of a situation while you were gone.” Whumper sighs, getting up and nodding toward the door for Caretaker to follow. Two security guards walk behind them, and Caretaker’s stomach churns when he sees the others standing at each corner they pass. If it was only two, he could take them down. Surrounded as he is, his only hope is to play the game long enough for Whumper to slip up first. “So, apparently having his wrists chained above him wasn’t particularly good for a nearly closed wound. It got infected.”

The world stops for a moment, pauses in horror. And yet it keeps moving, somehow – Caretaker’s legs keep driving him forward, even if his heart turns into stone in his chest, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing with fear.

“He’s fine, though,” Whumper continues as if his last words hadn’t frozen Caretaker inside out. “I’ll let you see him, as a treat, before you give me the drive, just because this was not supposed to happen.”

There are no words, no nothing as Caretaker keeps walking, the motion automatic, hammering heart the only sound he hears.

They enter the medical wing Whumpee had been in before he left, and stop in front of a white door. Whumper is frowning when he opens it, but Caretaker only has eyes for the tiny figure lying on the bed.

He was always so stunned by how big Whumpee looked, even though he was always a few centimeters shorter. Loud laughs, passionate ideas, all love and wildness that could never be contained – it all made him so much bigger than anyone else.

But under white sheets, a needle stuck to his vein, and beeping machines all around him, Whumpee looks so small. Vulnerable. Alone.

“See, still breathing,” Whumper huffs behind him.

“If I give you the drive, will you let me take him away?” The question is low, whispered not to wake Whumpee up. Or maybe not to reveal how tight his chest feels. 

“We’ll talk about it later. Just hand it over and I’ll even let you hang around for a while.”

It isn’t reassuring at all, but Caretaker doesn’t even look at Whumper as he hands him the device, eyes still locked on each shallow breath Whumpee takes.

“Don’t do anything stupid. The room is filled with cameras and my men will be waiting outside,” Whumper warns before leaving.

Caretaker is beside the bed before the door is even fully closed. 

His eyes travel down each centimeter of Whumpee’s body, head to toe, from the way his eyes move from side to side underneath his eyelids to the padded restraint around his right wrist to the slight bulge of new bandages covering his stab wound. The wound Caretaker is guilty of.

He sits at the very edge of the bed, leans closer. Whumpee’s hand is cold when Caretaker holds it, but his cheek is warm under his fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, tracing his thumb along Whumpee’s jawline. “I’ll get you out of here, okay? And then I’ll never let anyone touch you again.”

He closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling as the words bubble up, escaping the dam Caretaker had built so long ago, through the cracks Whumpee created with each trustful smile, each careful touch and disarming gentleness. The cracks Caretaker did his best to close, thought he did for a while. And then he woke up to Whumpee tied behind his back and found out his heart had never stopped bleeding for him.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve never been you. I was the one supposed to be hurt, not you. Never you. I am so sorry, Whumpee, so, so–“

A sharp intake of breath makes Caretaker’s words die in his throat.

He cracks his eyes open and freezes when he finds Whumpee’s green gaze locked on him.

They stare at each other, one instant that lasts one thousand, a million words Caretaker wishes to say but knows he won’t. And then Whumpee’s eyes wander around the room, aimlessly stopping here and there, going back to Caretaker, half-lidded and lost somewhere else.

“I ha– I hate it,” Whumpee mumbles, “that you’re still… in m-my dreams.”

Its low, weak, and Caretaker side-glances the bag filled with clear liquid dripping into Whumpee’s veins before looking back at him and smiling faintly. “I know. It’s okay. I deserve your hate.”

“No. Not you. I hate me.”

“What?”

Whumpee blinks slowly, so slowly opening back drug-addled eyes that strain to focus on Caretaker’s face, and leans his cheek against Caretaker’s palm. “I hate me… for still… still… caring.”

And just like that, the world stops in its tracks again. A sob gets caught between Caretaker’s teeth, and he just stares at Whumpee as either exhaustion or medication takes him away again, and his head lolls on the pillow.

When Whumper comes to pick him up hours later, Caretaker is still standing on the same spot, still holding Whumpee’s limp hand, still staring at the peace sleep brings to that beautiful face. The peace he hasn’t seen since Caretaker himself took from him.

He doesn’t complain when he’s told to leave the room. Caretaker simply squeezes that tiny hand that hides under his and obeys. 

They go back to Whumper’s office, and Caretaker strains to focus on now, here, not the man lying on a hospital bed one floor above.

“Good visit?” Whumper teases.

“I did my part. Now let us go.”

There’s a weight inside of Caretaker’s stomach, and it is tied to that sleeping figure, to that lost gaze that’ll never leave his mind.

“I have a new offer.”

He knew this was coming. Caretaker hoped it wasn’t but he knew it from the moment he looked at Whumper’s ambitious eyes.

“I want you to work for me.”

A humorless laugh escapes his lips, and Caretaker crosses his arms over his chest. “In your dreams. Now do your part and let me grab Whumpee and go.”

“Um no, I don’t think I will.”

“Why should I trust you when you haven’t been true to your word twice now?”

A snorted laugh, a raise of brows. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I have Whumpee. He isn’t in shape for traveling right now, y’know? I’m doing him a favor keeping him here, giving him top-of-the-line medical care. You should be thanking me.”

“What do you want now, Whumper?” Caretaker sighs. Exhaustion is curling around his very bones, helplessness snaking up his throat, and he is just so tired of this. Of being sad and scared and guilty, even if he deserves every single drop of it.

“Go back to your team and feed me relevant information, and I’ll keep making sure that nasty infection doesn’t hurt Whumpee anymore than it already has. Do as I say, and he stays alive. You know the drill, don’t you?”

Caretaker doesn’t have the willpower to do more than close his eyes and fall into a chair, waiting to hear the details of one more betrayal he has no way to avoid. 

-

It makes no sense, truly, but when Whumpee wakes up, he is surprised to find himself alone. There was no one in the cell with him, there’s no reason to expect someone to be with him in the hospital-like room, but a part of him expects a warm hand on his either way.

Pieces of dreams float around his mind, barren rooms with monsters waiting in the dark, a crimson puddle of his own blood, familiar and unknown faces blurring together. And the one that felt the most real, the one dream he holds close to his heart even if he doesn’t want to.

Caretaker’s face, worried eyes, gentle touches, soothing and painful all at once. Murmured words, tearful apologies. A dream he wishes was real, knows it isn’t.

Whumpee closes his eyes when tears blur his vision, and brushes his fingers along his jawline in a phantom touch he hasn’t felt in so long but wishes he had.

(next)

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.07

11/03/2020

Waiting to Exhale

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5, 871

Warnings: smut!, SO MUCH FLUFF, smidge of angst, language, talk of pregnancy for the purpose of an heir to the throne

A/N: Y’all, I really tried to move away from the smut this chapter but THOR MAKES ME DO IT! FUCK! I want him so much. Reader is literally me. lol Anywho, I wrote the end of this chapter like half asleep, just now. And I’m too tired to even worry about going back to proof it and I wanted to share it with y’all now instead of making you wait until tomorrow so, here it is. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT REPOST my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Kissing Thor is noisy. Mainly because he likes to really kiss you. His lips smoosh against your own until he’s delving into your mouth with his tongue. You’re so eager to reciprocate the affection that you greet him willingly. Your own tongue swirling around his own.

You’re hit with the salty tang of the olives from his sandwich, a spicy bite to the flavor from the jalapeños.

He kisses you slow, making it last minutes. He makes you dizzy and your heart seems to be perpetually pounding since last night.

The water sloshes around both your bodies as he reaches down to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you right up against him, breasts squished against his massive pecs.

He holds the side of your head, fingers strong and possessive as he tilts your head to explore you better.

When your breath is nothing but gasping, he pulls back with an audible smack. He leans in to kiss you twice more. Two quick pecks before he twists to his right and reaches for the large glass of wine he’d poured you.

Handing it to you, he fixes your hair before reaching to his left for a sandwich triangle. Roast and chicken, cheese, tomatoes, and mustard. You’re not even sure you like this food but when Thor holds the tip of the sandwich up to your lips you open up and take a bite.

Your mind is too preoccupied with the naked God before you to worry about the flavors in your mouth anymore. If it doesn’t immediately pertain to Thor, then you don’t have a mind for it right now.

He follows your bite with his own and replaces the sandwich on the tray still half full along with a bowl of olives and another of cheese cubes.

You lick your lips as you chew, watching his face for any shift that might hint at a change of mood.

Thor however hasn’t changed since this morning when you gave yourself to him completely. And he gave himself to you too.

Maybe it’s silly to think that way, that what happened between the two of you was anything more than sex, but it felt like it. Especially that first time.

He’d been so…there had been something about the look in his eyes, the way he touched you. So sweet and gentle. So loving.

Even now, his free hand finds the soft skin of your side and while you flinch at first, he knows to keep his hand there and after a moment you settle and are still again.

“Why do you pull away?” Thor had asked in the morning after that first time when he’d been laying with you, talking as his hand sought a spot on your side.

“I’m not pulling away.” You’d argued. “I’ve just never been touched there before by anyone but myself. It feels weird. Not exactly a tickling but close to it.”

Now he lets the surprise pass and caresses the spot once your body has moved on from the shock.

“You keep searching for something. What is it, cherub?” He reaches over to give your cheek a little pinch then throws his hand over the edge of the large bath you’d seen when you’d stolen a peek at his bathroom.

The water is steaming hot, such a comfort to your surprisingly sore body. You hadn’t realized how much your morning activities would stress it. What a work out!

Thor’s already frowned at the bruises he can see he’s left on you. You shut that down quickly. You liked the sex. You’re not about to give it up because he’s a little too strong.

Smart? Probably not. But you’re discovering a whole new side to yourself that you hadn’t known you could be. And the bruises are only on your hips, some on your ass.

You didn’t know that you could be desirable and seductive. Irresistible? Definitely not! But from the way Thor’s hands keep loving on your curves, you must at least be so to him, right? Even if it’s only in a physical, sexual way. It’s more than you ever thought you’d have.

“Nothing.” You swallow your food, tipping your glass against your lips to wash it down with a mouthful of wine.

Before you can say anything else, Thor mashes his lips to yours. His tongue takes a quick dip into your mouth before finishing his kiss with another peck.

“Mmm.” He hums, and you can’t help but laugh.

“What was that for?”

“You taste like raspberries.” He informs you, swiping his thumb across your lips.

“It’s the wine.”

Thor purses his lips, giving you a skeptical look as if you’re lying.

“Mmmmm, you sure?” He smiles, a big goofy grin you hadn’t seen yet.

The expression gives you such joy that you laugh, leaning against his chest as your body shakes with it.

Thor’s eyes are bright, happy, and he gladly dips his head down to kiss your lips as you pucker your lips up at him.

“Can this be real?” You wonder, staring up into his pretty face.

“Why do you think it isn’t? Shall I pinch you?” His hand tickles your side, grabbing gently.

You squirm and laugh, quickly grabbing his hand to stop his pinching.

“No!” You shake with your chuckling. “Stop.”

“I will if you tell me why you can’t believe this is reality.”

“I don’t know? Because it all feels too good to be true?” You turn around slowly, nestling into his lap, his arms wrapping themselves around you instantly as you lean back against him, resting your head against his shoulder.

He kisses your cheek, then rests his own scratchy bearded cheek against your head.

“I mean, it was three days ago that I was sitting in my house, completely alone and would have probably stayed that way until I died. I’ve never felt any kind of interest for anyone before.”

“I’m sure someone would have come along and fallen in love with you. You’re very lovable, cherub. Otherwise, how could you feel so good where I have you?”

Your cheeks are burning hot. If someone held a wick to it, it would light and burn.

You laugh nervously, not believing a single word.

“It’s true.” Thor insists, squeezing you against his body. “If I’m completely honest, no one has ever felt this good before.”

“You just need the affection.” You scoff.

“No.” Thor refuses your thinking. “I like you.”

He drops his voice to a deep whisper. As he says those three words, it becomes thick and heavy. It means a lot. To you. To him. This is a significant moment, and he makes sure to steal your breath with his massive body curling around you from behind and that deep voice that likes to nestle in between your ribs and make it hot there.

“We’ve only just started,” he observes. “Imagine how I’ll feel in a month.”

He’s absolutely wicked with his charm, and you know you’re a lost cause to it. There’s no going back from this now.

“And I did like you, too. Even when I first came to see you. I can’t deny that. I think it’s pretty clear by now, how I feel. But I had no idea that it was to this extent. I didn’t know that I’d go from virgin to what happened today in the blink of an eye.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Thor asks, no fear in his voice but you can feel a tension in his arms.

“Nope. It isn’t.” You shake your head, turning to look at him but he’s so close.

His cheeks are a flushed pink bronze. You realize he’s blushing at your confession much like his made you all flustered too. He’s hot for sure, downright breathtaking, but you had no idea he could be this adorable too. Cute? He’s almost like a puppy in this moment. Sweet and lovable.

You can’t help yourself, so you just kiss his bearded chin, and he quickly turns to meet your lips with his own.

He relaxes, the affection calming him? You’re not sure. But that’s what it feels like and it plays into your theory that he’s been needing the physical reassurance.

You reach up behind his head, fingers delving into the short and wet strands of his hair as he reaches over and forces your head to turn more so that he can kiss you with passion again.

You whimper, his touch intoxicating.

In response to your own sounds of enjoyment, Thor utters a small groan. Slowly he pushes you up, rises, and spins with you until your back is to the edge of the bathing pool. He turns you around, then with kisses to the center of your back to nudge you forward, he guides you into bending over with your chest pressed against the warm edge of the bath. He bends over you completely and pulls you into another passionate kiss, holding your face towards his by grabbing your chin.

Gently he nudges your legs open with his knee and before you can prepare yourself fully, he’s inside you, curling his hips around your bum as he plunges himself deeper.

You break the kiss to gasp with pleasure, the sensation growing on you more and more. As he cups your breasts, you lay your head down and reaching back to hook your hand around his bottom, pulling him towards you when he thrusts making him groan with excitement as he picks up the pace.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s moaning underneath you. A dramatic, overexaggerated, completely ridiculous display meant only for you as you card your hands through his drying hair. He has his head in your lap, shirtless form with only a baggy pair of black sweats keeping his manly bits private. For you, his face is upside down. But that doesn’t make him any less handsome.

You’re sitting with your back against the headrest, chuckling at the look on his face and the stupid sounds he’s making for your benefit.

“Stop making those noises!” You laugh, “It doesn’t sound right.”

“Or does it sound just right?”

You chuckle continuously, scratching his scalp lightly and his mouth genuinely falls open.

“Oh, that feels so good.”

Silly man.

“Are we going to spend the rest of the day in bed?” You wonder, not minding the idea one bit.

He mumbles something indistinct. Maybe nonsense? You’re not sure. But you laugh again.

“What?”

“Please, don’t stop.” He begs.

You lapse into silence, letting this blissful moment stretch on until your mind starts to wander.

You’ve realized that the affection he’s after isn’t just that, but he’s also touch starved.

You are too, but that makes sense. You’ve been single your whole life.

It’s weird for him. He’s been with Jane for a while. Why does it feel like these displays of affection from you are something he’s been yearning for? Maybe not from you specifically, but the touch is welcomed. Eagerly.

“Can I ask you something?” You keep stroking his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp in small circles.

“Mmmmmmm…” He looks like he might fall asleep, his one blue eye shut.

“I know you said that you picked me because of what I told you my ideal marriage was like. Is this part of a marriage important for you? Physical affection? Is that what you liked about the description I gave you?” You reach down to stroke his cheek, loving the feel of his beard against your skin.

Thor opens his eye, staring up at you with a torn expression. What does it mean?

“I liked the image you painted of us.” He reaches up, caressing the back of your neck. “I should be more honest with you.”

Fuck. Is it bad news?

“Truth is, Jane and I haven’t really been together for about half a year. We hadn’t broken up officially or anything. And it isn’t so much that we haven’t seen each other just because we’re busy but we haven’t tried to see each other.

“If we had tried a little harder, I think we could have still kept things going for a bit longer, but…” He doesn’t finish his thought and instead leaves you to wonder if maybe Jane didn’t want to try? Or maybe he didn’t want to? Which is silly because he’s been holding out for her.

It’s what almost ruined your opinion of him.

“But you still love each other?” You’re confused, his love for her is so obvious.

“Many people who love each other drift apart. If both parties are not willing to keep the relationship going, even the strongest love can be inconsequential.”

His eye is trained on the ceiling above, a beautiful ornate wooden design carved by Asgardian artisans. He’s lost in thoughts. Depressing ones it looks like.

You don’t like the idea of him being unhappy. It stings a little on a personal level too to know that it’s because of his pining for an ex-love.

But you want him to know that you’ve heard him. You understand his feelings as best as you can.

“I’m sorry she doesn’t know what she’s losing.” You mean it too.

Jane is losing out on such a beautiful soul. Alien or not, Thor is entrancing.

You can’t picture your life without Thor now. Even if your feelings are still growing and nowhere near where his and Jane’s are for each other, the idea of never feeling his kiss again, his weight on you? It’s unbearable to think about.

He told you he likes you! That means something, right?

He’s also so sweet and funny. He really is a dream. If he hadn’t propositioned you during that first meeting of feigning your marriage, he’d be perfect. But no one can be perfect and you’re pretty sure he must have been desperate as hell at the time.

“But maybe I should write her a thank you note?” You place your hands on both sides of his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “If she had agreed to marry you, I wouldn’t be here. And I’m so…so lucky to be here, Thor.”

You sigh heavily, having been thinking about this since your bath at noon.

“I thought I was going to be married to someone who wouldn’t care about me.” You confess. “I thought I was doomed to living a life without real feeling. But what we have…it isn’t normal, right? This kind of connection isn’t common?”

You could be wrong. This isn’t something you’re knowledgeable about. Not even a little bit.

“No. It’s not.” Thor agrees, reaching up to hook his hand around the back of your neck, a gentle squeeze to emphasize his words.

“We’re lucky, Thor.” You nod, smiling hopefully because for the first time since all of this craziness began, you can see the life you’d imagined for your ideal marriage as a true possibility.

There might be more to it. It’s not just a marriage, but a duty. You’ll be Queen and Thor is already King. There’s going to be more than days like this with him. There’ll be obligations and maybe even things that you won’t want to do.

Days like this will make it worth it.

Thor smiles at you, his body relaxed again after getting things off his chest.

“We’re lucky.” He agrees and pulls you down until he can kiss you.

Upside down, the kiss is a little strange. You huff a laugh against his lips until he reaches up to take hold of your head and tilt it to the side so that he can silence you with a deeper kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, I’m here.” Thor announces, strutting into his war room on the second floor.

It’s a simple room, large as it is. Round like his bedroom, with no windows. There’s a doorway to the right on the far end that leads to a small tower hidden among the various roofs of the palace. That’s his strategic viewpoint. That’s where he can see invaders if invaders are stupid enough to try and come here.

“You’re late.” Loki says, off-hand, not paying attention. He's focused on what’s before him. Busy.

There’s no urgency in his voice so Thor stops just inside the door, hands finding his hips as he stands there staring at his brother.

The silence is almost endless until Loki looks up and does a double take at the sight of Thor standing there wearing a pair of baggy black sweats and a ratty old gray shirt. It’s clean. Just full of frays and tears.

“I see we’ve completely given up.” Loki observes. “One day with your fiancé and you think you can relax and walk around looking like an Earth frat boy?”

“How do you know what a frat boy is?”

“I’ve been on Earth longer than you have I think.” Loki scoffs. “I had to scope out the planet before I tried to take it over, remember?”

“That’s not something I would go around bragging about, brother. The people of Earth might not realize you’ve changed.” Thor finally moves in further, sitting himself down on the large throne-like seat at the head of a very large round table that doubles as a battle map.

This is what Loki had been focused on.

As he sits back, relaxing in his comfy chair, he sighs heavily. Happily. Hands resting on his stomach as he stares at the table, zoning out with thoughts of the copious amount of times he’d made love to you today.

Loki’s continued silence begins to draw his attention and he turns to look at him only to find him with narrowed and suspicious eyes.

“What did you do?” Loki demands, “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

“Hm? Nothing. I did nothing.” Thor assures him, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat.

Loki knows him too well. The way Thor spreads his legs, wide apart as he claims the room as his own with his mere presence. There are only two reasons his brother takes that posture.

“I know you, Thor. You’ve either defeated an enemy in battle within the last few hours of the day—which is clearly impossible since you’ve been holed up in your bedroom this entire time. Or you’ve gone and bedded some woman until you’re entirely spent.”

Thor clears his throat, avoiding his brother’s eyes.

“Thor,” He already sounds upset. “I thought you were going to wait until you were married to her?”

His demanding tone, the upset brings a sense of slight shame to Thor’s beautiful memories of the day.

Quickly he wipes that away. It was a day well spent, growing closer to you and forming a bond that will help you both in your marriage.

“We were supposed to!” Thor argues.

“How could you bed her two days before the wedding?”

“She asked me to!” Thor counters, getting to his feet as he gestures towards the door with both hands flat, palms up.

“As if I’d believe that.” Loki frowns.

“She did! I swear to you, I tried to refuse her.”

“Not very hard, I imagine.” Loki scoffs.

“Loki, the last thing that I want to do is take advantage of Y/N. She’s honest and true. She doesn’t play games and she’s up front about what she wants. She told me that she wanted to be with me because she felt it was right, not because she was required to in order to consummate our marriage.

“And honestly, I’m glad that we did it. Not only do I know now that she and I are compatible in that way, but it meant more for her to do so willingly. I wasn’t exactly eager to bed her knowing that she was only doing it because it was something she was obligated to do either. We were both of one mind on that front.”

Loki’s eyes are sharp, trained on Thor as he explains himself and crosses the room to a small table against the right curved wall to pour himself a glass of ale. He’s able to see that Thor is not lying. Everything he just said is the truth. And while he worries about you and Thor too, he can see that this is probably for the best.

He thinks about it as Thor drinks, then accepts this new phase of your courtship.

“Well, I suppose it’s never too early to start working for that heir.”

Thor sputters on his drink, coughing and gasping.

He thumps his chest, turning to Loki as he zones out again with thoughts of the copious amount of times he’d made love to you today, and each and every time he released within you.

True, you and he would have had to start on an heir quickly. It’s what the people want, as well as the Ambassadors for Earth. They want tangible ties to the human race.

Still, Thor’s heart begins to pound at the idea of your belly swelling with his babe.

It’s not an unpleasant thought. In fact, the more he pictures it, the more he likes it.

Because he’s an idiot, he tries to picture Jane like that too.

They’d never even discussed children.

Jane had been focused on her work and Thor had been too happy to step aside and wait for her to be ready.

He finds he can’t picture Jane the way he can picture you, sweet smile caressing your belly as you look up to meet his eye. Smile widening before you reach out towards him, “Come feel, he’s kicking.”

His imagination is surprisingly vivid and his heart swells.

“A head start on siring an heir isn’t a bad idea. You should spend tomorrow doing the same.” Loki suggests.

Thor reaches up to rub along his chest, right over his heart as that feeling of fullness keeps growing.

“Aye,” Thor agrees, but his words are a whisper to himself. “I think I just might.”

“What?” Loki asks, Thor too quiet for him to hear.

“Nothing. What was the threat you wanted to speak of?” Thor moves back to his seat, but rather than take it, he stands, staring at the simple map of Earth.

Loki isn’t looking at the map, however. He’s got what looks like a silver bowl on top of it, a glistening silver liquid within.

“A window.” Thor realizes.

“Just a small one.” Loki nods, staring intently at the serene liquid.

“What do you see?”

Thor only sees the silver liquid.

“Stirrings. They’re quiet, and only shadows for the time being. I sense Jotunheim.” Loki murmurs darkly.

“Laufey?” The worry is heavy on his mind now, nothing but this threat matters to Thor. In this moment, he’s got one thing on his mind.

“Perhaps.” Loki nods.

“But you killed him. Didn’t you? You saved father and mother. Another trick, brother?” Thor spits, almost angry. Mostly just suspicious.

“No.” Loki insists, giving his brother a frown. “Not on my side. I thought he was dead. I’m not sure if it’s him but it feels like Laufey.”

“What does this mean?”

“I’m not sure yet, Thor. As I said, it’s only a stirring. I’ll have to keep watch.”

“Have you shared this with the guard? Brunnhilde? Sif?” Thor asks.

“Yes.” Loki nods, waving his hand over the silver. “Sif has gone to hurry the Warrior’s Three back in case something should come before the wedding. Don’t worry, brother. As soon as I have more information, I will come to you.”

With a heavy sigh, Thor crosses his bulging arms over his hardened chest. Now his mind is preoccupied. Worries begin to grow. The safety of his people first and foremost.

They don’t have the armor or weapons to defend the city much less the surrounding human cities in the area. If the Jotunn should rise again, their wrath would not stop with New Asgard.

“Thor?”

“Hm?” He’s still mostly distracted, out of it as his mind races to plan ahead for all contingencies.

“Don’t you have a pretty future Queen of Asgard waiting in your bedroom? Did you not have something to do?”

Thor’s gaze eventually wanders over to Loki. He understands he should say something, so he nods. “Right, of course. Right. Keep me posted.”

He walks around him, through the door and back up to his floor. At the end of the hall he sees the light seeping through the bottom of the door. The warm glow of the lit fire.

Moving towards it, he doesn’t see it or the comforts it promises. He can only see the thousands of faces of his people, looking to him for guidance and reassurance. Their safety is in his hands. He can fight for days, weeks without stopping if he has to in order to protect those under his care, but he’s one man. How will he protect them all?

He can’t be there to block every blow.

The weight of his crown is heavy, feet falling heavy against the wooden floor.

A fear begins to bubble up in his chest, shifting and squirming, making him feel sick to his stomach. His hand shakes as he reaches out to take hold of the handle to his door. As he takes it, he squeezes harder than he means to and the metal groans beneath his grip.

When he pushes the door open, a wave of warmth washes over him, pulling him out of the grip of the cool hallway air.

He hears a groan from his desk chair.

Searching for it, he spots you sitting with your back twisted as you hold to the arm, turning to face him.

It’s the sight of you that clears his head and steadies his heart.

Sitting there with in his pink sweater again, this time a pair of thick wool socks on your feet. One is scrunched around your ankles, the other holding firm to your lovely, well explored calf.

You take his breath away as you smile at him, your eyes searching his face. Your pretty smile falters, a scrunch between your eyes as notice his distress.

“Is everything okay?” You ask him, the laptop behind you abandoned mid-sentence on whatever work you’re writing.

He stops by the door. It shuts behind him. You stand up and Thor’s mind is bathed with the delicious image of you again, belly swollen with his child.

This time you’re not smiling and beckoning him for a feel of a kick. Instead, you’re standing before him, your hands resting against that belly, your face twisted in honest concern.

This time he doesn’t have to imagine what you would say because you open your mouth now and say, “C-Can I help? Thor? What can I do?”

Nothing.

You can do absolutely nothing if a Jotunn army comes to freeze the Earth over. Their cradle is gone but their power comes from magic. Magic in their blood. And they’re strong enough to do damage without the cradle.

So, even though you ask, and he knows that the answer is nothing, just the fact that you ask. That adorable little crinkle between your eyes.

His mind returns and in three long strides he’s got you up in his arms. He kisses you hard, overcome with gratitude and that image in his head of you pregnant both smiling and worried. It’s too much for him and how can he show you how much your offer means to him?

How can he show you that your own strife over his feelings for Jane is unnecessary?

The only way he can think of in this moment is without words. With his hands and his lips and his body.

“Mm.” You mumble, resisting. You push yourself back a bit and Thor lets you get away but keeps you held against his body; your legs wrapped around his waist. “Thor, what’s wrong?”

Your hands are so gentle against his cheeks, caressing his beard, stroking it as if the feel of it brings you pleasure.

He pushes forward, past your little grip and buries his face against the side of your neck.

You smell like rosewater. And something else. Something just you. You’ve taken another bath in his absence. He can’t blame you after all of the loving he’s given you today.

Without another query you wrap your arms around his shoulders, one hand making soothing circles between his shoulder blades, the other on the back of his head in a supportive caress.

Thor is absolutely melting from all this affection you’re giving him.

How had he survived without it?

How had he gone so hard for so long and only now realized that he’d been waiting to exhale.

Here in your arms, he can breathe finally. Even though the weight of Asgard is on his shoulders, and the weight of the Earth and the nine realms too, with you here holding him up he can take solace for a bit.

He carries you back to the bed, sits on the edge, and you readjust your legs so that you can keep them on either side of him but hold yourself up a bit more steadily. Thor loves the way you seem to flow with his movements. You respond and he adjusts for you too.

After what feels like an hour, he pulls back to look up at your beautiful face.

“Where have you been all of my life?” He whispers, voice choked from the breath he’d finally breathed.

“I’m here now.” You nod, “And I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to.”

Thor scoffs at the idea, such a completely stupid and ridiculous thought for you to have because he cannot possibly exist without you in his life now.

He realizes it now more than before. The sex had been fantastic. Much needed. The intimacy welcomed and yearned for, though not exactly from you until you gave it and he realized that it was exactly your type of intimacy he’d been looking for.

There’s something more to what you can give him. More to what you’re already providing him with.

To his great pleasure, and he hopes to yours too, there’s one more thing he needs from you. Something that he hopes you’re willing to give.

“Let’s make a babe.” He says, and he can see your breath hitch.

The way he can see your mind go blank and fuzzy and then try to process what he’s just said is endearing. You’re always so shocked by his displays of attachment.

He can’t exactly blame you. It’s only been three days. Still, he’s felt more in these three days than he has over years with anyone else.

This feels so close to love, he’s almost certain that for him it already is. But he’ll hold off telling you until he’s completely sure. He meant what he told Hilde and Loki. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

Not ever.

“Wh-what?” You finally stutter, your lips shaking as you speak.

He smiles, reaches up to trace your bottom one with his thumb and they part for him, a response no doubt curated by the many situations he’s placed you in today. Every touch had been a request to come closer and every time you’d opened up for him.

“We’ll have to have one eventually. Soon, too. The Ambassadors will want a human Asgardian heir as soon as possible to make sure that I’ll have a reason to protect the human species as much as my own.

“But mostly I really just want to see you heavy with my child, cherub. We’ll make many little angels together. Sooner, rather than later.” Thor hooks his hand behind your neck, giving it a squeeze as he pulls you towards his lips.

You pucker up instantly the closer you get, your eyes peeled however, trained on his own electric blue as if you’re waiting for him to say it’s a joke.

He gives you a peck, just reassurance for you.

“You do?” You breathe, airy and short.

“I do. Let me make you a true mother of Asgard.” He whispers, and he can see your skin pimple. He reaches down to run his hand up along your arm, only making the goosebumps more pronounced as he tries to soothe them.

Thor can see you struggling to find the words. It doesn’t look like a negative thing.

He brings his hands down to our thighs, running them up to push the sweater you’re wearing up a bit until his fingers find the crease of your bent legs just below your hips. He tickles you there and you squirm, accidentally rubbing up against him just right.

“Let me fill you up, my sweet, sweet cherub.” He gushes, hoping it’s not coercion he’s inflicting and hopefully just reassurance. “I want you to the be the mother of my children. Only you.”

And then you pounce.

Thor is taken aback by the weight you throw on him, the flurry to get his pants down and his shirt yanked up over his head. He traces your sides, fingers dragging across your skin slowly which only seems to drive you crazier.

You kiss him hard at first, then after a minute, it softens.

You pull back to look down at him and Thor tries to read that look in your eyes. He tries to understand the resolve there, the grit he can see.

Then you’re kissing him again, these electric fire kisses that seem to make the world around him blur until all he can see, feel, hear, or care about is you and your body and pulling those little chuckles from you in the middle of your romp because the way your voice suddenly shifts into a moan from the happy sound drives him wild and all he wants to do is make you call his name.

What is this intoxication he has with you? That apple taste of you, so much like ale, draws him in and there’s no escaping you now. You’re his, and he can see in your eyes that he is truly yours.

Willingly he gives himself up to you. All thoughts of Jane driven from his mind because how can anyone compare to this draw of you? This perfection?

“Oh, Thor…” You whimper, his hands pulling you slowly against his hips as he pushes himself up with his other arm.

He hits you deep, stretching you wide as he stuffs you with his cock. Your hand is tight around his shoulder, nails digging hard as you bite your lip and muffle your moan.

“No…” He pulls you to him, sitting up then standing up and taking you with him. He turns around then with you falls to the bed. “…no. Let me hear you. I wanna hear you.”

He thrusts in deeper and you cry out loud, legs wrapping around his waist to yank him closer.

“Like that.” Thor whispers, approving of the sound you just made.

He thrusts again and it’s breathier, but still a cry and anyone in the palace will know that he’s made you his, body and soon soul too.

Will he ever tire of your body? Will he ever tire of these sighs and moans?

He doesn’t even need to ask because he knows.

Never.

[harrygroves]

a simple favor - chapter five

part four

“Billy, get on the horse.”

“Steve, for the tenth time, I am not getting on that thing.” Billy repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” Steve asks, atop his own horse, growing impatient.

“Look at what you’re on, Steve. That thing is huge.”

“Yes, they are, but it’s safe. I swear.” Steve promises.

“Nope. No fucking way. I’ll pass on this.”

Steve gives him a murderous smile, talking through clenched teeth. “Billy, my mother is watching through the window, alright? Get on mine then, just come on!”

Billy looks over his shoulder, back at the house where Mrs. Harrington is indeed watching them.

He turns back to Steve. “You want me to ride with you?” He asks.

“If you won’t ride on your own then you can ride with me.” Steve replies with a shrug.

Billy deflates, defeated. “Fine, but I’m not wearing the stupid fucking helmet.” He snaps before approaching Steve and his horse.

It’s a big, strong looking American Quarter (according to Steve) horse with soft brown hair and black, inky eyes. Billy has never been this close to a horse before and it’s scaring the absolute shit out of him.

Steve instructs him. “Right, so put your foot there, and grab here and hoist yourself up.”

Billy does so with shaky hands and the horse moves while he hoists, and it freaks him the hell out and he settles behind Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle tightly.

Billy can feel the laugh vibrate through Steve’s body. “Wow, you’re really scared, aren’t you?” Steve says.

“Yes, I am not just trying to grope you, I am in fact, fucking terrified right now.”

“Well, then you’re not going to like this.” Steve says before making a loud noise and kicking the horse.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Billy shouts into the back of Steve’s neck as they take off.

Galloping. They’re fucking galloping.

Billy’s going to murder him.

*

He doesn’t get used to it, not for a single second and when Steve finally slows the horse to a light trot, he realizes his body is rigid and unmoving and it takes a great deal of effort to untangle his arms from Steve. His limbs are stiff, but he can’t fully let go of Steve; he’s the only thing keeping him on the fucking horse, so he settles for lightly gripping his sides.

“I h-hate you.” Billy sputters out, voice shaking.

“Aww, sweetie. Love you too.” Steve replies cheekily over his shoulder.

Billy had kept closing his eyes while riding, and hadn’t fully looked around him. They were in a meadow, near a pond, a couple ducks gliding along the water.

Steve leads the horse to the water and lets it drink. Billy tries to stop trembling but it’s not going away.

“So, how do you think this is going?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“I fucking hate it.” Billy snaps.

“No, not the horse, you dolt, the plan.” Steve bites back.

“Oh. Uh. I don't know. Fine I guess. Your parents are a fucking nightmare, but you warned me about that. Do you think they’re buying it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment. The horse shakes it head around, steps back and moves forward a couple times and Billy finds himself gripping Steve’s sides harder.

“I think mom is too mad to look any deeper.” Steve finally says. “I can’t read dad. I’ll have to ask Robin.”

“What do you mean?” Billy scrunches his nose, confused.

“I mean, I’m not gonna actually ask, like, do you think dad is buying this?, but I’ll ask her if dad likes you.”

“He’d tell her?”

Steve nods. “They talk a lot more than he and I do.”

“Oh.” Billy says, feeling an awkward silence fall between them.

The silence is broken by Steve kicking the horse again and they’re off, Billy letting out a surprised, scared sound and wrapping his arms around Steve again.

*

After Billy gets off the horse, his legs feel like jelly. Steve brings the horse to the stable and takes the time to brush it, cooing and whispering at the thing like it’s a human child. Billy smokes a cigarette and rolls his eyes.

Finally Steve is done and they make their way back into the house.

Robin runs into them in the hallway and asks how it went.

“Lovely.” Steve says at the same time Billy says, “Fucking awful.”

Robin laughs, a deep-belly sound that actually makes Billy smile. She’s genuinely a fun person to be around and Billy’s starting to like her.

“What are you guys doing the rest of the day?” She asks once the laughing subsides.

“Probably prepping him for another interrogation at dinner.” Steve says with a long, tired eye-roll.

Like an afterthought, Steve reaches over and takes Billy’s hand, squeezing it lightly. The exchange might appear as though Steve was trying to comfort Billy, so Billy smiles at him slightly before the attention goes back to Robin.

“Alright, fine, but I want a day with him.” Robin says, crossing her arms.

“Uh. What?” Steve says, dropping Billy’s hand.

“Oh c’mon, Steve. The last guy you brought here was, like, two years ago. And I didn’t even get to know him. Let Billy and I hang.”

“I...don't...uh...stories!” Steve blurts out. “You’ll tell a bunch of embarrassing stories, and I won’t allow it.”

Billy wants to facepalm. He wants to cry. Steve is so bad at this.

“Sweetie -- ” Billy starts with a sickening smile. “ -- I think it’s a great idea. It’ll be fine. Promise.”

Billy reaches an arm over and wraps it around Steve, does it casually like it’s a common occurrence. Steve is tense beside him, mouth pursed and Billy can tell he’s not happy with this plan.

“Yay!” Robin claps her hands together. “We can curl each other’s hair and talk boys.” She says with a wink before saying goodbye and leaving them.

Steve shakes out of Billy’s arm and gives him a mean look. “You’re such an asshole.” He grumbles lowly.

“Aww, c’mon Stevie. We had a barely tolerable afternoon, don't ruin it.”

“I fucking hate you.” Steve continues, storming away.

“Steve? Steve! Wait for me! Seriously, I’m not getting lost in the Winchester Mystery House.” Billy shouts, running after him.

*

They’re arguing in Steve’s room.

Steve does not want Billy spending alone time with Robin.

Billy doesn’t understand why.

“It shouldn’t matter why.” Steve tells him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m paying you for a job, and this is not a requirement for that job.”

“Jeez, boss. Re-lax.” Billy says, laying on the bed.

“She’s going to...look, she’s going to tell you a bunch of stupid stories and I don't need you knowing anymore about me, other than the totally necessary shit for this stupid charade.”

Billy snorts. “A charade you designed.”

“I will fucking suffocate you tonight, I swear to god.”

“I honestly think you could with these pillows.” Billy mentions airily. He sits up. “Look, dude, this is stupid. I don't care what she says, I literally will not absorb any of it, swear. Unless it’s incredibly humiliating and I can use it against you in the future.”

Steve’s eyes are daggers and he looks like he wants to yell. Instead he stalks into the bathroom and slams the door.

*

Dinner is another awkward affair and Steve is mad at him, which makes it much worse. Robin keeps looking between them with interest. Billy tries to keep up appearances and puts his hand on Steve’s leg. Steve roughly shoves it off.

It’s like the kid forgot why Billy was even there.

Irritated, he cuts into his steak and eats angrily.

After dinner, Steve and Billy excuse themselves. They go back to Steve’s room, and Billy takes off his clothes, leaving him in boxers, before slipping into bed without a word.

Steve turns the television off but keeps it low. Billy isn’t facing him but he can tell Steve is still pissed. So is he.

Whatever.

*

The next morning Billy is plastered against Steve, one arm underneath him. Their legs are tangled together, hips touching. They’re both hard in their boxers. At some point last night, Steve had changed into a black-and-white striped tank top and taken his pants off.

The weight of Steve against him is comfortable and weird at the same time. His hair smells good. The tank top has ridden up, revealing mole-speckled skin. His mouth is open and the stale stench of morning breath wafts out, but Steve’s lazy, almost pleasant expression is what Billy is more focused on.

It’s nice.

It’s actually kind of nice.

Billy wants to kiss him.

Fuck.

This is...not good.

If he kissed Steve, would Steve wake up?

Would he kiss Billy back?

Would something else happen?

Billy zones out for a moment, thinking about that, but then realizes he absolutely cannot think about it any further because heat is pooling down his back, down his front and he has the overwhelming urge to grind against Steve.

Billy clears his throat and starts slowly trying to separate himself and Steve.

Steve only half wakes up, eyes fluttering open briefly. Billy’s moved his lower body away, but Steve’s still lying on his arm.

“Hmm?” Steve hums.

“Kinda...trapped here.” Billy says awkwardly.

Steve moans a little, sleep-heavy, and rolls away from Billy.

Billy leaves to use the bathroom, forcing himself to only pee and not jerk off.

When he returns to the bedroom, Steve is still lying on his side, but he’s looking at his phone.

Billy starts to say, “Good mo -- , ” but stops himself because oh yeah, they’re angry with each other. Steve looks at him briefly before turning his attention back to his phone.

Billy goes to the closet and grabs sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He needs coffee and a fucking cigarette.

He doesn’t say anything to Steve before leaving to try and find the kitchen.

Billy doesn’t get very far. He overhears fragments of a conversation coming from one of the libraries, or at least, Billy thinks it’s a library. He can’t keep track of the rooms in this damn house.

It’s Steve’s parents.

“ -- not thinking straight, obviously -- ”

“ -- Billy is just a phase -- ”

“ -- fighting all the time, just heard them the other day -- ”

“ -- don't think they’ll last -- ”

“ -- push off the money if Steve’s this unstable -- ”

Well fuck.

“ -- go talk to Steve right now -- ”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Billy ran as quietly as he could back to the bedroom.

Steve was sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Billy peeked out the door, looking down the hall. He saw the unmistakable hairstyle of Mrs. Harrington turning the corner and shut the door silently.

“Fuck.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face.

“What?” Steve yawned.

Billy turned and looked at Steve apprehensively. He guessed he had about thirty seconds and had to move quickly.

Billy took his shirt off, throwing it aside. He went over to the bed and slid under the covers, pouncing on Steve and pinning him down, Billy’s legs pushing Steve’s apart.

“What, what the fuck?” Steve all but shrieked, trying to move away, twist out of Billy’s hold.

“Dude, shut up. Listen to me.” Billy hissed. Steve is still hard and it’s pushing against Billy’s inner thigh but Billy tries to focus. “I overheard your parents talking, I’ll explain that part later, your mom’s coming in here. I need to -- ” He cut himself off, looking down at Steve’s mouth.

Steve seemed to understand and looked away briefly, but only for a second before giving a tight nod in response.

“It is extremely important that you act like you’re enjoying this.” Billy informs him and tries to sound as serious as possible.

Steve doesn’t say anything but Billy doesn’t miss how his cheeks are flushing and yeah, Steve’s dick just twitched.

Billy leant down and kissed him.

Steve was unresponsive for a moment, but Billy lets one of his wrists go and reaches down to pull at Steve’s tank top, pushing it up to his neck. Nipples exposed, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s chest, digging a finger against one of them.

Steve gasps against Billy’s mouth and Billy takes advantage of it, plunging his tongue in Steve’s mouth.

Billy feels Steve’s free hand grab at his hair and Steve’s suddenly kissing him back, making these little, desperate, almost confused noises in the back of his throat.

Billy drags his hand down Steve’s body, further down, dragging Steve’s boxers slightly down with his hand. He grips at Steve’s hips, which jerk in his hold. Steve whines a little. The blankets are pooled at their hips, so Steve’s mom wouldn’t even be able to see that, but Billy’s being a little greedy right now. Truthfully Steve hasn’t stopped moving since they started kissing, like he’s trying to move his body away, trying not to push against Billy, but he can’t stop shifting and squirming, and Billy wonders if it’s intentional or for show cause it’s doing things to Billy that he’s trying not to overthink.

Another desperate sound falls out of Steve’s mouth and Billy is starting to get hard again, knows Steve can feel it.

It was hot.

His heart is hammering. He kisses Steve harder, starting to lose himself in the way it’s making him feel.

He’s desperate to touch Steve, and his hand moves down a little.

“Steven, I -- ”

They jerk apart.

Mrs. Harrington stands in the doorway, eyes wide in shock.

“Mom!” Steve yells angrily.

“I. Oh. I. Oh no.” She’s short-circuiting, clearly embarrassed, and stumbles backwards out of the room, shutting the door.

Billy doesn’t move. He waits a full ten seconds before turning back to look at Steve who is staring at him, face bright red, and it’s spread down his neck, his chest.

They’re still so close and Billy’s still holding his wrist, other hand gripping his hip.

He glances down at Steve’s mouth and he wants, god does he want.

Billy moves ever so slightly towards Steve.

Steve’s breath hitches. “Get off me.” Steve says quickly.

Crashing back to reality, Billy pulls away, moving off Steve.

Steve yanks his shirt down, pulls the blankets over him and lets out a long, shaky breath.

“What the fuck was that about?”

So Billy tells him.

chapter six

[lady-of-the-spirit]

Okay

I gave in. I wrote a Mandalorian fic. And I posted it again because it wasn’t showing up in the tags, so second time’s the charm. Enjoy!

Summary: The Child finds out you have scars and wants to know more about them.

Pairings: Baby Yoda (Grogu) & Reader, Din Djarin & Reader

Gender-neutral reader. No use of Y/N.

TW: Non-graphic memories of a fire (tragic backstory), discussion of scars. 

Notes: No spoilers for the finale. Grogu is called The Child in this fic. Din actually isn’t in the story much since this is mostly about you and the Child but he shows up at the end. You’re shirtless for most of the story but in a casual, just hanging out way, not in a sexy way.

Word count: 2823

AO3

You only had two shirts that you wore on a daily rotation. It was a step up from Din, who seemed to have exactly one set of clothes he wore on repeat. You suppose when you're always wearing armour, the clothing underneath doesn't matter as much - it's just extra padding.

But even when swapping shirts for each other every day, with the life you lead, things got dirty. Dirty and gross. Sweat, blood, all sorts of disgusting things you came into contact with got all over you and your clothes and after some amount of time, you and your clothes needed a wash. (You were never going to get the stain from hugging Din right after he exploded out of that Krayt Dragon out of your clothes, a fact you had come to terms with.)  

That brought you here, on the planet of Valahari. It was relatively safe, so far at least. It reminded you of Sorgan, with all the forests. It gave the Razor Crest some good coverage while Din was in town, looking for a job to make a few credits, and you and the Child waited for him to come back with the money. Or to come running back under blaster fire to make a quick getaway - either was likely, in your opinion.

Normally you would have headed off with Din, the Child held safely in his pod or the satchel hung over Din's shoulder, and worked the job with him, or found a job of your own to make some extra money, but the last adventure the clan of two and you had been on ended with a sprain in your right ankle. It wasn't bad enough you couldn't walk (limping was walking, no matter what Din said, the worrier), but it was bad enough that Din had decided you were not to do anything too strenuous until it healed. The Child had attempted to heal you, seeing you lying in pain on the floor of the Crest while Din was flying you all off the planet, but you had stopped him. Healing took a lot out of him and you would rather be inconvenienced for two to three weeks than let him hurt himself trying to help you. You had made it your whole life healing the normal way without any magical powers and you were perfectly fine doing it now.

Being out of commission meant being stuck with the Crest and watching the Child. It would bother you being left behind while Din was working, make you feel helpless, but knowing that Din "where I go, he goes" Djarin trusted you to take care of his baby was a nice feeling.

Near where the Crest was parked, hidden away in the forest, was a river. You, knowing that you would not get another chance to do so for a while, decided to take advantage of this and use the river to wash and clean your shirts. The edge was shallow enough for the Child to play in without much danger, although you glanced up at him every thirty seconds or so to make sure he was not getting in too deep. You knelt in a deeper part, sitting before the rock you were using to clean your clothes, and you didn't want him following you in further and getting washed away. He got used to the sound of you slapping your clothes against the rocks pretty quickly and didn't squeak in surprise after the third time. He was having the time of his life, splashing around in the water that came up to a little less than half his height. He chased after the little fishes darting through the water, doing his best to catch them and have a snack, and although they were always too fast for him he was determined to keep trying.

It was hard not to laugh when he slipped and landed on his behind - only after waiting to make sure he wasn't actually hurt, of course. He tilted his head and stared at you with "BETRAYAL!" flashing in those big dark eyes of his, and it made you laugh even more. He sighed - the resemblance to Din was uncanny and you laughed at that too, the way the fifty-year-old child perfectly mimicked his father's world-weary sigh - and got back to his feet and kept stumbling through the water after the silvery fish.

It didn't take long for you to finish your chores. You stood up and limped back to shore. You laid your wet clothes out on a boulder on the riverbank for them to dry in the sun. Despite the forest around you, the sun shone through perfectly onto the spot you found. You settled down on the grass and leaned back on your elbows, keeping your sprained ankle straight out in front of you and trying not to move it. You had a perfect view of the Child from where you were. The sun was warm against your skin. You sighed contentedly and continued to watch the little one play. He seemed to understand not to ask you to play with him like he normally would, that you were injured and shouldn't be pushing yourself.

You wondered if Din told him that when you weren't around, if the Force was telling him that, or if he just knew that himself. He was a very wise child, although it was easy to forget that as he babbled in joy after turning over a rock and finding a worm. He ate it before the words "Don't eat that!" were out of your mouth and there was nothing more you could do. You sighed and leaned back again. You closed your eyes for a moment, absorbing the warmth, trying to enjoy the rare moment of peace you had been blessed with.

A second later you realized it had gone quiet and your eyes snapped open. Peace never lasted long.

The Child wasn't gone, hadn't been swept away, to your relief. He was toddling out of the river, heading for you.

"Done with terrorizing the wildlife?" you asked him as he reached your side. He cooed in reply, smiling up at you. You took it as a yes and couldn't resist the urge to give his nose a little 'boop'. He made a noise you and Din had identified as his 'happy' noise and grinned. "You want to sit up here with me?"

The Child made another noise, looking away from your face and at your uncovered torso. It might have been the most skin he'd seen on a person in a while, so you couldn't blame him for his fascination. You watched as he took a few steps closer until he was standing right up against you. He raised his little green hand and started touching your stomach.

You wondered what he was doing before he started making noises you and Din had identified as his 'upset' noises and your eyes widened. "What's wrong?" You pushed yourself up a little bit, but he made the noises again, slightly louder. He moved his hand back to where it had been before. He prodded at your stomach and looked up at you, eyes huge and worried, wearing the saddest face you had ever seen.

You looked down at where he was poking you and you understood.

He had discovered one of your old scars. A really old one, so old it was mostly faded by now. You almost forgot it was even there, you were so accustomed to seeing it on your skin.

But the Child was not, and he saw the mark of an old wound and thought "hurt."

"Oh, honey," you said, reaching out and stroking one of his ears. "I'm fine."

He made another distressed noise like he thought you were lying.

"This is an old mark," you explained. You had long since stopped feeling silly for explaining things to the Child. He understood, whether or not he could say anything back. "I got it as a child. When I was little, like you." You held your hand at the height you were as a child to illustrate how little you were then compared to now. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

The Child still looked worried. You took one of his little hands into your own and held it against your scar, giving it a harder poke. "See? Doesn't hurt." You paused. "You wanna know how I got it?"

He cooed and blinked at you. You took it as a yes.

"Loth-cat," you said. He scowled and made an 'unhappy' noise. "Yeah, you remember those from Sorgan, don't you? Vicious little bas- monsters. I made the mistake of picking one up and it did not like that. Clawed me right here and that was that." You grimaced at the old memory.

"But it's all healed now," you continued, and you patted the Child's hand, still laid over the mark. "See? It's okay. No pain. I forget about it most of the time, it's fine."

The Child hummed and studied the mark with glittering eyes. You let go of his little fingers and he patted your scar on his own. Something warmed in your chest at the action.

He seemed to be taken in by the sight of your bare torso and quickly pointed to another scar, this one a little more recent. It was like a little starburst on your hip.

"Same thing, honey. It's an old wound, it doesn't hurt anymore." He stared up at you expectantly. "Oh, the story? I was on a hunt, like the kinds your dad goes on, or used to before we started looking for your people. This was way before I ever met him, though. Got on the wrong side of some, ahem, ruffians, and they shot me clean through. I got lucky since a doctor was in the crowd watching our fight and got me to her medical center. Still got the mark, though." You had also made a friend out of the doctor. You smiled and made a mental note to check in on her sometime. The path your little team was taking through the galaxy would put you somewhere near her planet, and it couldn't hurt to have her take a look at the child to make sure he was healthy.

The Child looked a little sadder at this story and his ears drooped.

"But I'm fine," you said gently, running your hand over his little head. "I'm here, aren't I? With you and your dad?"

He said nothing and reached up. His hands grabbed at your stomach and you realized he was trying to pull himself up onto you. You helped him out, giving him a lift with your hand, and he climbed over your stomach. He found a series of thin marks on your rib cage, which you then had to explain to him is what was left behind from pieces of shrapnel - an explosion a bounty had set off to evade capture. It hadn't even been your own bounty, you added with an exaggerated scowl to make the Child laugh. You had just been taking a day off in the vicinity of another hunt. Bad luck.

You omitted the fact that the accident had nearly been lights out for you. The Child didn't seem sad anymore, just curious, and you wanted to keep it that way. He started patting every scar he found. You wondered how often he'd had skin-on-skin contact with another creature. Wasn't that supposed to be good for babies? You remembered reading about that somewhere. You made another mental note to mention it to Din. It was something he should know.

You couldn't tell how the Child felt about the number of scars he found on your body, but he seemed engaged in every story you told. A lot of them were from stupid accidents when you were younger - "My sibling and I got into a knife fight with each other, I don't recommend it," "Don't pick up a nuna without warning, they'll probably freak out and their claws hurt," - but most were from various and more dangerous excursions throughout your adult life. You kept those stories shorter to keep from frightening him but told him enough to keep him entertained. He liked some danger, you knew, he just didn't like it when you or Din were threatened.

His hand landed on an old burn scar that crawled up your side and it made you go stiff. He stilled, sensing something was wrong.

You had to take a moment to compose your thoughts. What to say about that one? How much to keep from him? Could you even tell him about it?

You closed your eyes and tried to sift through the almost ancient memories pushing their way to the forefront of your mind. Your house on fire. Your village burning to the ground. The flames and their suffocating heat all around you. The sounds of your family, neighbours, people you've known all your life, screaming. You running and trying to hide - getting trapped under a burning wooden beam - a random face, a person you know you've seen before but can't place, pulling you out, putting out the flames on your side, carrying you to safety. You had passed out from the searing pain in your side and never saw the person again. You never found out who it was, you just knew you were alive thanks to them. Alive with a single mark to show for it.

You opened your eyes when you felt the Child shifting. He took a few steps and stood on your chest. You grunted under his weight, grateful he wasn't any heavier or he would have been a problem - he was just like a little cat. He studied your face with inquisitive eyes. You smiled weakly.

"Not quite ready to talk about that one yet, I'm afraid," you said.

His ears drooped and he looked at you sadly. You thought it was because he wanted his story, but then he reached out and patted your cheek, the same way he'd been doing to all of your scars. He cooed gently and tilted his head.

It's okay, he seemed to be telling you. Like if he couldn't use his Force healing to help, giving you a gentle pat was the next best thing.

You stroked his ears.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you murmured to him.

He smiled, happy to have helped.

You were able to smile back. His ears lifted.

You heard a rustle and immediately sat up, holding the Child tight to you, keeping him hidden, and turning so you could see who was coming.

You saw Beskar glinting in the sunlight. It was just Din. You sighed and relax, letting the Child go so he could drop off your stomach and waddle over to his dad.

"Get any credits?" you called over your shoulder, tilting your head back to soak in a few last rays of sun before you had to go back to the Crest.

"Got enough," was his reply. "How's the ankle?"

That was his daily greeting now, every time you woke up or had been apart for longer than a few hours. It was cute how much he worried despite trying to seem like he wasn't worrying.

"It's doing alright." You sat up. "Good as it can be, anyway." You managed to get to your feet, the pain shooting up your leg making you wince. You could tell Din saw it, if the way he suddenly tensed like he was ready to spring forward and help was any indication.

"That's good." His voice sounded odd. The Child, snug in his arms, seemed to notice too as he looked up at Din with a curious look. You shrugged it off and picked up your laundry from the boulder. It was mostly dry, so you pulled on one of your shirts.

"How was the Child?" he asked, his voice going back to normal.

"He had fun, terrorizing the wildlife, as he does." You didn't mention the worm he ate.

"As he does," Din repeated with a hint of fondness. You walked over to him, only a slight limp in your step. "It seems like you two were bonding."

"He was curious about some of my marks," you said. "Don't think he's ever seen a scar before."

Din didn't say anything. The Child reached a tiny hand out to you and you gave him a little handshake, smiling at him.

"I just told him about them," you explained. "Nothing too graphic, just the basic story of them all. He seems glad to know I'm still here, though."

Din nodded. The Child refused to let your hand go.

"He's not the only one," Din said quietly, so quietly you almost missed it. But you didn't.

You didn't comment on it, but you couldn't stop smiling all the way back to the Crest.

Din was definitely hiding in the background watching some of the last bits of you and Baby’s bonding moment and is dealing with Feelings about that and seeing you shirtless.

This is the first, but hopefully not the last fic I’ve written for The Mandalorian. Hope I did okay! If this made you want to see my future writing for The Mandalorian, just let me know and I’ll put you on a tag list. 

I think I did a decent job, making this gender-neutral, but if there’s anything you noticed you feel like bringing to my attention, feel free.

[adhd-ahamilton]

I got to see Hamilton in Sydney!!

It was a seriously, seriously amazing time – I was always worried that by the time I finally got to see Hamilton on stage (I was even supposed to see it in America last year lmfao) it wouldn’t mean the same anymore. And like, obviously it’s not my hyperfixation anymore. But even like this, it was still an incredible experience! I always figured that the recording would focus more on close-ups and the like because you can’t really see that on stage, but you really can see so much of what’s going on when you see it live and the whole stage is full of things to notice!

I have a lot of thoughts about it (mainly about the Australian cast, though some of these things could just be live performance things)!

Firstly, only two lines had their wordings changed:

* ‘John Adams doesn’t have a real job, anyway’ → ‘Vice president is not a real job, anyway.’ This got a good laugh from the audience; obviously it was changed to preserve the joke, since most Aussies wouldn’t have a good idea of who John Adams was. (I explained the joke when I watched the recording with my parents.)

* ‘Weehawken. Dawn.’ → ‘Jersey. Dawn.’ This was a bit of a surprise, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense. Aussies also wouldn’t know Weehawken (I didn’t even get that he was referring to a place when I first heard it), while Jersey is very clear because they already made a joke about it. (That one didn’t get much of a laugh though, ofc lol) And it’s actually more consistent because later they do say ‘we were near the same spot my son died, is that why’ so they drive that connection even deeper.

I don’t think there were any other music/staging/choreography differences from the recording – just the acting. But ooh, this really was differently-acted!

Hamilton

I love Lin-Manuel Miranda. I love his energy and enthusiasm and intelligence and his optimism. But while I loved his dorky version of Hamiton, I have to admit, I didn’t always think it matched up with even the musical’s script, let alone the real person. This Hamilton, though? I kept thinking about all the ways he felt different from the original, and almost every time, it was like ‘yeah, this feels more like what I know of the real Hamilton.’ (Or at least, the Hamilton we wrote about in fic.)

This Hamilton is aggressive and prickly. Up until Helpless, we don’t really see him smile – which makes sense, y’know, with ‘talk less, smile more.’ When he confronts Burr at the beginning of the play, he doesn’t have Miranda’s overly energetic and talkative air, he’s more pushy and too intense. You really feel like, oh, yeah, he’s just walking up to someone on the street and badgering them into telling him about their life story. When he says ‘God, I wish there was a war’ he’s less naive and more so hyperfocused on his goal he doesn’t notice he’s said something super insensitive. When Burr says ‘You wanna get ahead?’ his ‘Yes’ isn’t quiet and firm, it’s more ‘yes obviously, nobody would not want to get ahead, so just hurry up and tell me already.’

And that’s just in the first couple of songs! He continues on like this, with that kind of burning intensity and hot temper, through the musical, though ofc it softens at important times. Importantly, his relationship with Burr is largely based in frustration. When he does ‘My Shot’, it honestly feels less like he’s singing to impress the guys and more like he’s challenging Burr and everything he just told him; I’m sure I saw him glancing back at Burr several times. Likewise, when he tells Burr to go get Theodosia, it’s not questioning – he’s outright saying that if he really loved her, he’d take any risk for her. And in Schuyler Defeated, his ‘Burr?’ isn’t questioning there, either – he’s already angry, he’s just demanding his attention. He genuinely seems to like Burr in a weird way that even he might not understand at times, but for the most part he just seems to find him really frustrating and is always trying to incite him to do more.

This Hamilton also feels very independent, and even aloof. In The Story of Tonight, while the other guys are totally sincere and moved by it all, Hamilton feels sorta… distant. At one point he half walks off until Laurens brings him back, which I think happens in the recording as well, but here I especially felt like that was how he was ‘really’ feeling. Not that he was being manipulative or lying in any way, just that he couldn’t be in the moment because he was still stuck in his head thinking about the future. And the whole way through, he very rarely seems to properly open up – my friend said afterwards that Hurricane hits so much harder when it’s the first time he’s really vulnerable in the entire musical. Which is basically how it happens.

It’s funny – you think of Hamilton and Burr as being contrasting this way, with Burr keeping his cards close to his chest and not revealing what he really wants until The Room Where It Happens, but this Hamilton doesn’t feel far off. But rather than keeping a secret per se, it’s more… he has such an incredibly strong, intense drive, and you’re never super certain where it comes from. And in Hurricane, it suddenly becomes clear – all this time, he’s still caught up in that trauma, and still feels like he needs to fight and scrape just to survive, even when it turns into this self-destructive impulse. Honestly, Hurricane has always been kind of a weird song – he’s been corrupted and is not the most sympathetic beforehand, but then you get this grand slow inspiring song talking about how he suffered in the past and overcame it, but THEN you cut to an almost comedic number about how he fucked everything up for himself and his family. In Miranda’s version, that mood up-and-down always felt a little too jarring. Here it made perfect sense – it was so shocking to see how vulnerable he was at the beginning, and then the song isn’t just repeating what we learned in the beginning, it’s explaining what he’s been keeping deep down all along, but also making it clear that this is manic and awful and destructive.

Part of that is the singing, too. This Hamilton can rap really well, but his singing voice is startlingly gentle and beautiful. It really helps to get across the sincerity of his feelings in Helpless, Dear Theodosia, and as I said Hurricane. On the other hand, there are also times his voice just goes flat, like there are so many emotions he can’t process them – you see that a bit in My Shot when he gets worried (‘I never had a group of friends before’), but it REALLY stings when he says ‘I have so much work to do.’ That hit me way harder than Miranda’s version :(

However, when you combine this Hamilton’s aloofness with that certainty and intelligence, you also get a version of him that is particularly… ironic? He’s always crossing his arms (when he’s not rubbing his face with a palm; those two gestures repeat constantly through the play), and kinda stepping back and Watching people, with a bit of a sense of self-important and even patronising judgement. This is very much ‘So quick-witted!’ ‘Alas, I admit it.’ He definitely does come across like a dude who thinks he is ‘smartest in the room,’ and puts way too much stock in his own opinion. Particularly with Burr whenever they were getting along there was a distinct sense of ‘You know what? I actually think you’re pretty interesting. And my positive judgement is hard to come by, so that’s a big compliment.’ (Burr does not seem to get this weirdly condescending vibe though, lol.) Honestly…. I gotta admit: I really don’t like people like that, haha – though I can’t say it’s entirely inappropriate for Hamilton characterisation. This Hamilton genuinely feels difficult, and that matches up to what happens in the script.

But, the consequence is that after Hurricane, some of the later songs didn’t have quite as much of an impact on me as in the original. In It’s Quite Uptown, I could somehow never quite lose that vision of Hamilton as a bit sarcastic and superior – the way he rubs at his face in grief still just felt a little… put-on and theatrical, like you can hear the frustrated sigh underneath. And this is a song that demands complete, total, unrelenting vulnerability – Miranda’s Hamilton sounds like he’s dying the whole time and that makes the emotional stakes really felt. Maybe it’s that his voice was TOO gentle in this song – Miranda’s more awkward voice actually adds to the exhausted brokenness of the situation?

And finally, when we got to The World Was Wide Enough… Miranda’s speech there in the silence might just be my favourite sequence in the entire musical, so I think anyone else would have struggled to match up to that. It doesn’t help that I was distracted trying to figure out Burr in this scene (which I’ll get to later). It was still beautiful, of course, but ‘What is a legacy?’ just feels so so very Lin-Manuel Miranda and anyone else singing that just doesn’t feel the same.

Overall, I really really enjoyed this version of Alexander Hamilton – as I said, he felt much closer to the actual characterisation I always imagined for him. And this one showed some really fascinating vulnerability in unexpected places, even if the ending didn’t quite land as well for me.

Burr

This Burr was really, really fascinating as well – an interpretation that feels different all the way through, but really pays off at the end with something very striking.

So, something the group of us all agreed was that this Burr felt a lot more like the ‘trust fund baby’ he calls himself. There’s something elegant and refined about him, a rich person who is used to moving through the world as a person to be admired. He’s actually quite graceful, somehow, even though he barely dances? But that also really brings to the fore one particular element – entitlement. (Seriously, my mum is physically incapable of bringing up Burr without mentioning the word ‘entitled’, lol.)

This is a Burr who is used to not having to work for things. He just sort of expects things to fall into his lap, eventually, in contrast to Hamilton. The world will eventually shape to match his desires – that’s how things work. Even in the latter part of the musical, it doesn’t so much feel like he needs to fight and scrape like Hamilton to get ahead, but more like… getting ahead is his birthright, and he just needs to effect that inevitable change into the world. But I’ll get to all that later.

The other thing my friend said was that this Burr feels very much like a preacher’s son, and the more I thought about that the more I agree. There’s something almost… toxically positive about him – the smiles don’t feel two-faced and manipulative so much as maybe like, wilfully ignorant? There’s a very ‘Don’t fret, God will work things out in the end :)’ feel about him, actually. But there’s also something deeply naive in him. Leslie Odom Junior’s version also had some of that genuine lack of understanding – when he muses in confusion over Hamilton in Wait For It, or when his face scrunches in confusion when he says ‘I don’t see why that has to end’ in Schuyler Defeated, and this one does all that, but it feels like an even more inescapable part of his character.

Like, there’s something about this Burr that is just a bit… lame. A bit ‘Hello Fellow Kids.’ But, intentionally!! As I said, he’s a preacher’s son. When he tries to act kinda cool or badass, it just doesn’t quite work. When he interacts with the other guys, even as he smiles wanly and shakes it off when they insult him, you feel like he does still want to be – or even think he is? - part of that group of cool young men. He’s just too… nice, almost. I felt a little more bad during The Story Of Tonight (Reprise) and all. And he seems to take it really earnestly that Hamilton likes him, even if, like I said, there’s a sorta superior quality coming from Hamilton.

He just comes across more naive. Rather than a manipulator, this Burr comes across as more of a shameless Yes Man, who doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what he’s doing. But I also sort of felt like other characters easily saw through him, and Burr didn’t quite realise that. Like with Jefferson, it sorta felt like he thought he was being really strategic but Jefferson was just like ‘sure, this guy works as an ally, even if he’s kinda annoying.’

And when it comes to Wait For It… the song makes it clear that bad things have happened to him – he hasn’t gone through life without suffering – but he hasn’t had the same reaction Hamilton has had. While Hamilton learned nothing will come to him unless he takes it, it feels like Burr learned that things will just… happen to him, good or bad, and he can’t control it. Nothing that has ever really affected Burr has been of his choice – he inherited his position, and then his parents died, and  all of that was just the uncontrollable whim of the universe. Leslie Odom Junior’s version emphasised the ‘I am the one thing I can control’ aspect a bit more – you feel that that version really had worked hard and struggled for the sake of his studies and job, but this Wait For It gave me a very uncomfortable feeling of being trapped. It’s as though everything about him is already decided, and even his efforts aren’t personal decisions so much as just what was natural and expected of him to do.

And that makes the second half of the story feel very different for him. In Leslie Odom Junior’s version, we see him take that self-control to new levels – that realisation that there is something that means as much to him as all of that drive and intensity Hamilton puts out, and it’s his own ambition. That he does want that, and he will have to fight and get his hand dirty to make it happen. As the story goes on, he becomes increasingly desperate and fearful, understanding more and more what it was to be that kid in the hurricane, becoming viscerally aware that terrible things can and will happen to him unless he stops them.

This Burr doesn’t feel like that. His downfall isn’t frantic. It’s very very cold.

In The Room Where It Happens, yes, his ambition crystallises and he changes strategy. But it feels less like an electric jolt, or an earthquake, and more of an epiphany. It’s okay for him to do these things. It’s right. He belongs in the room where it happens. Whatever he does to bring him there is by definition right and good.

He honestly seems to be feeling good through much of it. He’s so smiley when he comes up to Jefferson. He seems even more confused than Leslie’s Burr when Hamilton is actually mad at him for unseating Schuyler. And in The Election of 1800, there’s nothing of the original’s tired, manic energy, like he’s pushing himself to the brink and plastering on a smile to get through it. When this Burr campaigns, he’s energized and charismatic and friendly and filled with almost a kind of serenity. Like this is what he was born to do. His future is almost here – he just needs to reach out a little and it will be in his grasp.

Which, brief aside here while I analyse this haha – so, in Australia, a big part of our culture is what is called Tall Poppy Syndrome. i.e., an instinctive bitterness and hostility towards those who are perceived to stand above others. It’s often described as an aggression towards successful people, but I think that’s only part of it. Australians would describe their culture as breezy and casual and relaxed, but there’s also something disaffected about it, IMO. You’re not meant to ever take anything too seriously. Yes, we all take the piss out of politicians, but it’s sorta ‘lame’ to really seriously oppose them, too. It’s like our culture is stuck in the mindset of a self-conscious fifteen year old, where we’re all sorta lazily cynical and ‘bluntly honest’, but you’re not supposed to ever actually do anything about it all. Caring too much is kinda embarrassing. You’re just supposed to make fun of people and keep living your life. We don’t get the same fundamentalist groups intent on forcing their viewpoint on society like America does, but we also don’t get the same idealists who fervently believe that if we work hard we can make things better. They exist, for sure. But… well, it’s hard for me to imagine an Australian Leslie Knope, you know? (Who, btw, is one of my favourite fictional characters of all time, for reference.)

Watching Burr in The Election of 1800, I was struck by a memory. It was an Australian season of The Amazing Race, and on top of all of the typical relaxed Australian reality show contenders (seriously, I don’t know what the fuck Drag Race Down Under is on, that is the most un-Australian reality show I have ever SEEN), there was one couple that were I suppose Go-Getters. The type who eat healthily (probably vegan) and get up every morning in their athleisure to work out at the gym or go for runs. They were peppy and enthusiastic and they announced with huge smiles that they were going to WIN this! And the other contestants absolutely despised them. At one point, they did something to attract specific ire – honestly, it was probably nothing more than just not helping another duo who were going the wrong way, because in Australian reality shows everyone helps. But after that, multiple groups all ganged up to sabotage them. They took such delight in watching these two cheery people’s optimism flag, so very self-assured in having taught them to ‘not take yourself too seriously.’ Burr, as he was campaigning, reminded me of them.

It’s really telling, I think, that Burr is the one who reminded me a little of Leslie Knope, here – albeit obviously a much darker version. The kind of person who dorkily believes in the system and puts himself out there unselfconsciously, whose wide smiles are unironic and unmocking. In the original, Lin Manuel Miranda actually compared Hamilton to Leslie Knope at one point, with Hamilton’s ‘thirty years of disagreements.’ It’s a very Australian thing, to make Hamilton less earnest and more aloof and sarcastic, to make his anger as much about frustration with other people as about believing in something himself, and to make Burr, by comparison, sincere. Australians don’t really trust sincerity. Honesty is to be framed as an insulting joke, and Burr is just too polite to do that.

When the results come, Burr’s serene smile only very very slowly fades. Before his expression really drops, he turns away. When Your Obedient Servant starts, he’s quiet. The whole time he sings, he’s measured and controlled and entirely certain of himself. He doesn’t have LOJ’s grit or spikes in volume on ‘just to keep me from winning.’ He’s unnervingly quiet.

Even into The World Was Wide Enough this continues. In the original, Burr is outright frantic. He’s desperate and shaking with anger and fear, and when he points at Hamilton’s glasses and the like, you can feel that he actually isn’t sure of himself – that he’s trying to justify this to himself and knows he sounds crazy, but he just can’t pull back now. His voice shakes and goes up and down. When he says ‘we were near the same spot his son died, is that way?’ it rises and when he says ‘this man will not make an orphan of my daughter’ he cracks in real tears, like the mention of Philip reminded him of what’s at stake here, like that really is the reason he’ll kill him. This Burr stays quiet and cold. He doesn’t waver.

If that Burr was desperate, this one feels… and I hope this doesn’t sound like a joke: like a thwarted rich nice guy. The other Burr learned from Hamilton too well, and is replicating his self-destructive energy. This Burr hasn’t learned anything at all. Winning is still his birthright, and Hamilton has stolen that from him. Burr deserves it, and he deserves to punish Hamilton for this. It’s not an explosion of shock, a scrabbling for purchase in this new chaotic world that will doom them both. It’s vindictive. Burr knows what he is doing and he wants to hurt Hamilton for all Hamilton has hurt him.

After the shot, I was surprised to find myself not tearing up as I expected (usually, these two last songs always get me). With the original Burr, his singing is laced with pain as much as regret. When he repeats ‘death doesn’t discriminate’, we feel his sorrow as he fits Hamilton into the same kind of category as his parents and wife, as someone important to him who died. When he says ‘he may have been the first one who died, but I’m the one who paid for it,’ we understand that he’s referring to the depth of his grief. That having to live with knowing he killed Hamilton feels, in this moment, worse than death.

This Burr is still cold. And when he finally gets to it, and says ‘I’m the one who paid for it,’ he looks away. He almost spits. His face is contorted in bitterness. It’s rough and gritty, for the first time in the entire musical.

I can remember it vividly – it was shocking to see, and sends shivers through me to remember. I’d been waiting for that cathartic sadness, but it wasn’t here. This Burr, deep down, didn’t feel for Hamilton, at least in the end. He was pissed off because for once in his life his actions had consequences. Because of Hamilton, he had fucked up his life forever. His worldview had been shattered. And at that moment, that was all he could think about – that resignation and bitterness and anger. All along, maybe, he had been nice only because he’d had no reason not to be. Once it didn’t benefit him, and his pride and entitlement were damaged, he showed who he truly was.

It… was an experience, lol. Honestly I think it was partly lost on me because I so loved the original version and was like working myself up ready for a good cry here, so I didn’t get to just sit and take the full impact – I kept searching for a grief or fear that wasn’t there. But I don’t think this version is bad! It’s a very valid interpretation of Burr, and it was extremely fascinating to see unfold.

If I have one critique, it’s that one kind of problem with the whole Australian show is that the performances lacked grit. I really wanted more edge, more aggression, more intensity of those emotions – something more sharp and shocking. Hamilton delivers this kind of thing at times, especially early on, but ofc it fades away in the end. Jefferson, as I’ll get to, is too smooth-talking while also having that cold serene kind of anger. When we lack both Hamilton’s broken It’s Quiet Uptown and Burr’s frantic ‘this man will not make an orphan of my daughter’, we don’t get those life and death stakes quite as highly. By focusing all of Burr’s anger in one line, I think the rest of the songs didn’t have as much of an impact as I’d like.

But!! I really enjoyed this interpretation, and I’d love to see it again knowing what’s coming!

Eliza

OKAY nobody else is going to get those huge walls of text lmaoooo

Anyway this Eliza wasn’t a super different interpretation than Phillipa Soo’s, but I think she pulled it off at least as well, if not even better?

So, the really big obvious thing about this Eliza is her smile. Her actress has this amazing, big toothy grin that feels so lacking in guile, but also still so comforting. It’s so attention-grabbing and almost impossible not to be affected by. It just screams ‘hey, things will turn out okay, so cheer up! :)’ And it’s something that just comes out on Eliza as if on instinct – she’s wearing it through most of That Would Be Enough, and at the end of Take A Break when she escorts Angelica away, and even in Blow You All Away when she’s comforting Phillip or in flickers when describing Hamilton’s old letters in Burn.

The thing about Eliza as a character is that she’s basically defined by her emotional intelligence. She feels as strongly as Hamilton, but where he is uncontrolled and reckless and both self and other destructive, she is the opposite of all of those things. She’s measured and practical and knows exactly who she is and what she wants at all times. She will sacrifice for others, but it’s because she decides to, and if she is hurt, she will not keep herself in harm’s way. It’s an interesting kind of competence and I can understand in theory why it’s cool to have a female character like that even if I, as a neurodivergent mentally ill woman cannot relate in the slightest and feel sorta awkward to be judged against.

This Eliza nails all of that perfectly. She’s effortlessly charming and soothing whenever she wants to be – in That Would Be Enough, when Hamilton is turned away and putting up all of his sharpest bristles, you can feel her become something soft and liquid and find her way up against him regardless without getting hurt. It’s that strength of character that makes their relationship really work – it’s not necessarily that she completely understands him or is good at ‘handling’ him, but that her certainty of purpose and deliberate, skilful compassion make her perfectly suited to calm Hamilton’s deep down insecurities. She loves him entirely and makes him believe that. And when Hamilton responds with his own intensity, she loves that, and believes in that.

And all of that makes it mean so much more when she steps out of that natural mediator role for a moment. In Helpless she’s adorable, so giddy and excited and so clearly crushing on Hamilton with a youthful energy that somehow doesn’t feel all that naive. As she sings she’s constantly glancing back over at him, it’s really cute haha. But she does feel a bit more vulnerable here – it does feel like she’s silently asking for help from Angelica when they talk. More startlingly, there’s Non-Stop – when she calls out ‘Alexander’, it is SHARP. It’s the same kind of tone Hamilton takes when he calls out to Burr in Schuyler Defeated. It’s a bit startling actually, but in a good way.

That tone, I think, foreshadows Burn. Again, I think this Eliza takes the same tone as Philippa Soo, but this version (maybe just because I saw it live!) embodied it even more – she talks about her own desperation to understand, re-reading their old letters, and cites Angelica as back-up, but when she reaches the mid-point, she stops and seems to think. She weighs up the situation and her emotions. And when she says ‘I’m erasing myself from the narrative,’ it is very deliberate and conscious. She is in control of her fate and she can see herself objectively and this is what is just. Her moral core is impenetrable. She sees long arc of the future that Hamilton and Burr are so obsessed with and she says, yes, this is what should be done.

And then in It’s Quiet Uptown, that same self-certainty is there from the very first word. This whole musical, even at her lowest, Eliza has instinctively brought out that comforting, wide smile. Here, her face is expressionless. If Hamilton’s acting here didn’t quite hit my mark, Eliza’s was spot on. The withdrawal of that earlier warmth is all the colder when there is no doubt within her about it, and nobody can argue she’s wrong in that. When she takes Hamilton’s hand, she still doesn’t smile. It’s sad :(

Of all of the final songs, Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story hit me closest to the original. It’s actually almost jarring to see Eliza ask ‘have I done enough?’ This whole song, we hear a hasty energy to her she’s lacked all musical – the first sign that Hamilton has rubbed off on her, too. But when she asks ‘Will they tell your story?’ it’s still Eliza – this isn’t about a legacy, it’s because she’s still that giddy girl from Helpless who loves him and wants to do everything she can for the people she loves.

(Whenever she and Hamilton see each other but appear to walk past one another, only to circle around and meet in the middle again, I cry lmao;;)

Her gasp at the end is soft and quiet and delighted, as though she just spotted someone in the crowd who she hasn’t seen in years and can’t wait to catch up.

If I have one critique, it’s the lack of grit again. Her scream at Philip’s death wasn’t as wild and destroyed as Phillipa Soo’s, and while I like her gasp, I prefer the original’s shocked, overwhelming joy.

Overall though, she was extremely good! Her charisma was just blinding, but it was in that perfectly ‘mundane’ way you’d expect from Eliza. But that solid, immovable core always shone through. They really sold her relationship with Hamilton, too!

Angelica

This is the one I feel like I have the least to say about. My mum said she was the only character who just couldn’t quite match up to the original, and I don’t really agree, but I don’t have a huge amount to say, either.

This Angelica felt a bit older and more mature than Goldsberry. The original Angelica has a bit of brashness and vivid emotion to her – a bit more out there and exaggerated in her actions and expressions. More bold but also more chaotic. This one was a bit more quiet and considering. Diplomatic, maybe?

I actually worried when I first saw her that she wouldn’t be able to carry Satisfied because she was too confident and capable I wouldn’t be able to believe her vulnerability, but no, she pulled that off perfectly. When she was standing in the dark there in the end, the sadness radiated from her.

I actually got a lot more chemistry between her and Hamilton this time; I always thought I disliked the relationship in that canon because of my grudge against how LMM wrote it, but maybe it’s just that LMM was too old for her lmao. You’d think her quietness would contrast with Hamilton’s pushiness, but if anything it feels like she can just eyebrow-arch off his usual way of getting under people’s skin – when she says ‘you forget yourself’ it’s subtly disapproving, then when he delivers the punchline, it’s like he proves himself enough to earn her respect. Indeed, their mutual aloofness actually suits them both really well. You can just imagine them working together, quietly sharing their judgements on everyone else in the room around them. They’d be a terrifying power couple, and that really connects up to her advice in Take a Break.

I don’t have as much to say about the rest of the musical though. (actually IDK if that’s all partly just because by the end my ADHD brain had to work a lot harder to keep up, lol.) Her piece in The Reynalds Pamphlet did the job, and her singing in It’s Quiet Uptown was beautiful.

I guess, if I had to contrast them, the original Angelica felt more spirited and aggressive – very ‘you want a revolution? I want a revelation!’ - while this one felt more like the settled head of the family who already had her place but understood the world perfectly and knew she’d have to pick and choose what she wanted most. (...spoken like that she sounds like a big contrast to Burr, funnily enough?)

Lafayette/Jefferson

So not too much to say about Lafayette – the guy pretty much did him the same as Daveed Diggs, and pulling that off is very impressive but there isn’t too much to analyse here. If anything the Lafayette felt slightly less bright and cheery than the original, which may have been done to contrast with Jefferson.

Jefferson, on the other hand, was quite different. Diggs’ version is very loud and kinda abrasive and arrogant – always smiling and bouncing but with something clearly malicious lying behind all of that. He’s got a harshness to him, deliberately intimidating and surprisingly authentic in what he reveals of himself. He’s a villain character who’s fun to watch because he’s having fun himself and you gotta admire his balls.

This Jefferson is much more smooth and manipulative – maybe taking over from what Burr sometimes delves into? When he first appears, he plays to the crowd, encouraging the cheers, but it’s less arrogance and more like, he’s a celebrity putting on a show. He’s friendly and cheerful all through What’d I Miss?, disarmingly enjoyable to watch. He’s someone who knows the crowd and likes the crowd and is very very good and getting what he wants from the crowd without making it obvious he’s doing that. He’s definitely the type of #relatable celebrity fans would really want to defend.

But Hamilton represents a very clear change to his status quo. He starts off singing What’d I Miss? just in a fun, conversation-starting way as a rhetorical question, but after Hamilton introduces himself, he seems genuinely taken-aback. His last ‘What’d I miss?’ sounds like a genuine question, like, ‘wait wtf what’s going on here all of a sudden?’

And then we get the Cabinet Battles. Despite the above, Jefferson starts off his argument oozing with relaxed confidence. He doesn’t need to take any of this seriously – it’s already in the bag! Everyone loves him and as long as he makes some nice jokes and smiles disarmingly enough, he’ll always get what he want. And then Hamilton starts talking. And he’s pushy and hostile and sarcastic and mocking and angry and superior. And the whole time, Jefferson stands straight and Stares at him. We get none of Diggs’ ‘Haha, this guy is a riot! :D’ type of energy – this Jefferson is deeply displeased, and he is watching very, very carefully to take stock of the situation so he can put an end to it.

It’s actually really well done IMO – when the crowd oohed and ahhed, it felt like a 50/50 of ‘what the hell, people aren’t supposed to DISAGREE with Jefferson!’ and also ‘holy shit this guy is acting like an actual obnoxious child who needs to stfu right now.’ Both Jefferson’s easy entitlement and Hamilton’s unhelpful abrasiveness really got across.

In the second battle, Jefferson is much more careful. Whether it’s because he isn’t underestimating Hamilton anymore or because he cares much more about this, there’s an unamused urgency underlying everything he says. He still tries to be friendly and charming and diplomatic, but his smile drops often. This issue is important and he is not going to back down on it. It’s actually still not quite as immaturely insulting as Hamilton – more like, ‘can we stop humoring this asshole kid already and do something we very much need to be doing?’

(Also fun fact: in The Room Where It Happens, when we get to Jefferson’s version of events, Hamilton’s ‘I had nowhere else to turn’ is SO fake and sarcastic it was really funny, like even the Hamilton in Jefferson’s head can’t bring himself to actually say that sincerely.)

So, when we get to Washington On Your Side, he’s cold. At the time, he contrasts well with Burr, who is all smiles and surprisingly relaxed. This Jefferson is more like Angelica, quietly analysing the situation and slowly coming to a plan. The difference between cold, planning Jefferson and smooth-talking Jefferson is also great.

Because of all this, he has less of the really comedic stuff the original Jefferson got, with the exaggerated expressions and movements – in We Know, he’s more struck dumb by everything than the more over the top reactions Diggs did. But the controlled coldness contrasts with Hamilton better – it makes sense that he was the one who successfully connived himself to the top. And we get much more of that contrast between public and private Jefferson that is one of the interesting real-world meta statements, where who is was to the people and who he actually was were very different.

…….I think I had some kind of impression of ‘because I’m the president’ but I can’t remember what it was anymore. Hrm.

Anyway: enjoyed!!

Mulligan/Madison

So, how I’ve been saying the show lacked grit? I honestly think it might’ve all just collected in Hercules Mulligan lmao – obviously his parts are meant to be bold and brash and powerful, but these ones hit even harder than usual. His part in The World Turned Upside Down was just so Loud I could feel it in my chest! Great performance, I loved it!

Madison was very very different naturally, but also very different from the original version? While the original Madison felt tired and a bit disgruntled, like he was exhausted by Jefferson’s in-your-faceness and just wanted to get this done so he could get back to his work, his one felt much happier to be there. This Madison felt like he actually saw himself as Jefferson’s teammate, like he considered himself part of the show and was happy (even smug) to be helping out. When Jefferson passes him the microphone, rather than say ‘France’ with an irritated expression as if to say ‘everyone already knows this, just get on with it already’, it feels more like this Madison already rehearsed this with Jefferson deliberately. He calls out ‘France,’ as though it is some incredible zinger, like he’s been given the mic drop here. It’s pretty cute haha!

Overall this Madison felt a lot younger. Talking afterwards my mum mentioned that Mulligan’s role is hard because he has to switch to playing ‘an old man’, and was pretty surprised when I said Madison was actually the same age as Hamilton. This version felt a lot more age-appropriate. He still gets sick and starts coughing (and it feels a lot meaner when Hamilton makes fun of him! The dude was just so happy to be here – let him have his zingers!!), but aside from that he thrums with nervous energy behind Jefferson, like he’s ready to help out anytime he’s needed.

In all, he kinda feels like he fulfils that certain comedic henchman trope a bit? It really comes together with the ‘Can we get back to politics?’ ‘:’( please!!’ exchange. Madison isn’t made fun of, per se – it’s not like he really does enough in the script to get that kind of attention. But he’s just a bit funnier and more sympathetic, while also strangely feeling more like he and Jefferson are an actual team. (I mean, Jefferson hands him the mic as though he’s setting up a zinger, too. They’re both a bit ridiculous!)

Laurens/Phillip

Okay, this was one I was really curious about, for obvious reasons – LMM always sorta made it out that since he never included any of the Hamilton/Laurens stuff in the script, he kinda tried to act it in there more. In Story of Tonight or Ten Duel Commandments, or even briefly in the opening song, there’s meant to be a closeness that hints, however subtle, at that relationship.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get that at all here.

Laurens’ casting surprised me at first – he’s super short and extremely baby-faced, to the point that I wondered if he wasn’t played by a cis man. (His actor is a man, though, though ofc I wouldn’t know if he’s cis or not.) I was kinda confused about that all through the first act… until I got to the second act and, uh, remembered. But despite this – perhaps because of it? - he is an absolute firecracker. He’s hot-headed and rough and determined and every bit the young impassioned soldier.

He’s a bit more naive in the early songs – he seems genuinely friendly with Hamilton in The Story of Tonight, and you feel like he really does just like him from the moment he hears Non-Stop – but like I said, Hamilton is still pretty closed-off through all of that, so… it doesn’t really feel mutual. Hamilton likes him fine, but it doesn’t feel like he cares as much as Laurens does.

In Satisfied, he indeed seems super drunk, but it’s more like he’s just too young and drinking too much at a party than anything. The only time I really felt any particular chemistry between him and Hamilton actually comes from Story of Tonight Reprise – when Hamilton wanders off to speak with Burr, in sincere friendship, and Laurens comes over and starts ribbing Burr about his girl with almost malicious energy, it did sort of feel a little like he was jealous, if only that Hamilton and he had been talking so easily.

Finally, we get to Stay Alive. There, Hamilton and Laurens are just so angry and disgusted with Lee that they don’t really have room for anything else. It’s all very focused and determined and Manly, without any time for something softer or close between them. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. Laurens’ revulsion for Lee is historical record, and it says a lot about him and his values that that was so important to him. But there are other important parts of Laurens – that worry and fear and insecurity inside him, that ended up being so damaging to him. In such a limited script for him, ‘Alexander, you’re the closest friend I’ve got’ is really his one chance to show some of those emotions before he dies. Instead, Laurens never really gets to show that vulnerability, and I worry that it makes him feel too much like a ‘generic soldier character.’

I wonder if it’s because this Laurens looked so youthful that they sort of overcompensated, and felt the need to make him extra manly to make it clear he belonged there despite his appearance. But it sort of felt a bit too… macho for me. Nowhere to be found is that 18th century romantic friendship. Instead, it’s been replaced by a more WWI era Comrade and Comrade type deal. They’d die for each other, but would they write romantic letters to one another? And I think this is also unfortunately pretty Australian – real emotion is lame!! The only acceptable emotion is fucking hating your boss, and challenging him to a duel with your squadmate to get him what he deserves.

Well, I’m reading too much into it all, lol. But I always felt like the original Laurens barely got to show much of himself as it was, and this one felt even less so, unfortunately.

His final scene – is it We May Not Live To See Your Glory? - is done well, though. Again, Laurens just sorta feels like a generic young soldier, but ‘idealistic soldier who died too young’ is moving enough on its own. And in one of those rare moments, Hamilton really does feel shaken and vulnerable. ‘I have so much work to do,’ as I said, hurts – so lifeless and unlike him. Like nothing could process those emotions in him now, or express them.

Philip, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. First of all, yeah – having a shorter, younger-looking actor makes that Take a Break scene WAY less awkward, haha. It wasn’t even funny, it was just like ‘oh huh this just kinda looks all right?’ And the actor did really well playing a kid! He looked like a completely different person there, which is really good.

And then we get to Blow You All Away, and hoo boyy. If Laurens had been excessively confident, Phillip oozes uncertainty with everything he does. When he flirts with the girls ‘when I come back we’ll all strip down to our socks’ he manages to pull off the cocky act but in basically every other line you can see and hear the ‘a-am I doing this right? I’m not screwing this up, am I?’ radiating off of him. He definitely believes he’s doing the right thing – when he says ‘you talk about my father I will not let it slide’ there’s no hesitation – it’s just that he very clearly isn’t sure if he’s up to the task of doing it.

It was sorta interesting, actually – I think the original Phillip was more naively overconfident and reckless, and only had an attack of the nerves after he got himself into the duel. But – and this might just be me projecting here, lol – when this Philip confronts Eacker in the theatre, I got a real sense of like… ‘??? can I do this here? Where are you meant to threaten duels???’ and when Eacker is like ‘piss off, I’m watching this show now’ he seemed to wilt a lot, and straight up froze for a second or two, like he really didn’t know what to do at that point. And then of course when he talks to Hamilton he’s really worried…

And then his death. Somehow, I never used to cry much when this happened – it’s obviously very sad, but it didn’t manage to hit the right heartstrings to make crying, even in the recording. But oh god, this one was just awful… Even as he’s dying, Philip is still just so desperate for approval, like he’s so scared his parents will be mad at him for screwing it up, and Eliza is trying so hard to reassure him before he dies… I cried a lot :(

So overall, I really liked this Phillip, even if I don’t necessarily think it’s an improvement to the original. Laurens I kinda preferred the original, though this was still an interesting interpretation that gave me a lot to think about!

Washington

The guy did well! He has what Washington needs, and that’s a stature. When he’s on stage, your eyes are just naturally drawn to him. Even when he’s not doing much, he’s still a little intimidating. He has presence!

And in fact, this actor had an interesting quirk where the whites of his eyes could be seen easily? In Right-Hand Man, as he’s striding around at the center of the stage, his eyes just looked white, and it drilled in that slightly manic, crazed intensity underlying his strict, rigid rapping and self-control. It have the whole thing a really great effect.

But this Washington also had a sort of almost… slight fem-ness to him, that I didn’t get as much from the initial? It’s funny how during One Last Time, I suddenly got this vivid though, ‘oh, it’s like he’s a cool supportive teacher.’ Which… obviously?? Haha. Like he’s clearly a mentor to Hamilton all the way through! But it’s that specifically teacher description I really felt all of a sudden, that he was warm and approachable and gentle at heart, despite everything I said above lol.

Like, I feel like this Washington was just a bit less stoic than the original? Slightly more expressive and less stern. When he says ‘I’m from Virginia, so watch your mouth,’ in the original, it sounded like he was genuinely kinda offended? It was ‘watch your mouth’ as in ‘don’t disrespect my home state.’ But in this one, Washington sorta grimaces a little theatrically and says it more incredulously, like he’s actually saying ‘you wanna maybe try thinking about who you’re talking to before you say that shit, son?’ It’s more of a warning – less that he’s upset and more that other people would be, so he should really try thinking before he speaks.

He also still does the part in Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story when Eliza says she spoke out against slavery and he kinda stumbles and stares and then looks down in shame, given the real Washington’s actions.

I liked him! I felt a little more warmly to him in the end than the original, but that might just be a product of seeing it live.

Peggy/Maria

Okay so I don’t really have anything to say about Peggy, which had basically always been the case, hah. :’) I mean, I think this version made the transformation between her initial wariness vs her later excitement more clear? But that is very likely a live show thing.

Maria, though!! Honestly? I was never really a fan of the original Maria’s performance. She just feels too much like a cliched seductress archetype, and while you can argue that that’s the role she plays in the story, especially since there’s the uncertainty over whether or not she was deliberately setting Hamilton up, it just feels too on the nose. It makes it harder to believe Hamilton didn’t know what was up the moment he saw her, which I don’t think is intentional. And it makes me feel bad for the real Maria Reynolds.

But this one was very different – much more vulnerable. When she first talks to Hamilton, she’s not doing a sexy pout and throaty singing, she’s just sorta… quiet and monotone and lost, much like Hamilton gets when he’s too emotional as well. Like she’s in shock and truly has nowhere to go is just sort of crumpling as a person. And when she propositions Hamilton, again it feels sincere – she just wants him to stay.

And after he talks to James Reynolds (just as perfectly, theatrically assholish as in the original), that continues. When he confronts her, she genuinely seems desperate and scared and upset. I felt so, so sorry for her that I was yelling in my head right then ‘you can’t just leave her now!’ at Hamilton – and then immediately remembered what that’d mean… it’s a much more gripping situation.

And then in the end, James Reynolds walks off and claps, and Maria just stops, face and body entirely stoic, and follows after him in silence… Is that an indication it was all an act from her? Or is it that she’s so scared of him that she totally closes up and can’t cry, can’t show any kind of emotion or weakness around him, and just has to try and be a silent and flawless wife? No matter how you interpret it, it’s chilling.

Oh, and IDK if this is done in the recording, but in The Reynolds Pamphlet, she gets given one, too, and her look of just… upset/disgust is also really painful. At the end they say ‘his poor wife’, but who thinks about poor Maria?? :(

I still wouldn’t say that this is an accurate adaptation of the real events, since I think that gets right into the script and structure of Hamilton in ways that a regional performance just can’t really make better. But this version is at least better. It plays Maria with more dignity, I think, than making her into a sexy bombshell, even if that bombshell act does get subverted in the original as well. This one feels significantly more sympathetic.

King George

He was great!! He was played by an older actor who seems to have done a lot of serious Shakespearian plays, which of course makes him absolutely perfect – both in that he could flawlessly depict that pompous old privileged Brit, but also in that he probably has a good backing in comedy and political satire :P He was clearly having the time of his life playing to the crowd – throughout all his time on stage he was constantly alternating between doing one or two lines very serious and mostly straight, before doing something absolutely hilarious. That back and forth worked extremely well!

Also I never saw it properly on the recording but when he gets up and dances in the middle of the stage during the Reynolds Pamphlet?? AMAZING.

Obviously, Johnathon Groff is his own personality and is friends with LMM and brings all of that unique stuff to the table that nobody could replicate. But this actor was just as much fun to watch, and does have the added benefit of really looking and sounding the part.

Final Thoughts

I’d really love to hear other people’s thoughts on this run, especially from the perspective of it being an Australian cast/audience – I really hoped the booklet would include at least a piece or two from someone who worked on this run, but it did not. (In fact, it was one of the scantest musical books I’ve seen? I don’t regret buying it as a souvenir of course but usually they have at least one or two interesting pieces of new content aside from just backstage pics…)

What really sticks out to me is the structure of it all. Hamilton is definitely the central character that brings everything together through the first ¾, but around The Room Where it Happens Burr starts to take over bit by bit, allowing him to keep up the energy as Hamilton falls back further and further into becoming both less of a hero but also more quiet and passive. By The Election of 1800, Burr is giving us all the energy – until the end of The World Was Wide Enough, when he too falls back and Eliza takes over.

Given this, this Hamilton did an incredible job throughout most of the performance – he had amazing chemistry with every other character and really exemplified that scrappy, intelligent, driven, but aggressive and difficult character that never quite shined through in LMM’s performance for me. Burr’s more subtle performance complements that well, and he even arguably outdoes Leslie Odom Junior in The Election of 1800. However, after that I think his quieter acting and singing sort of fails to fill the hole Hamilton left behind, reducing the climax a bit of its energy. Thankfully, Eliza was able to bring that all back for her final number.

It also strikes me that this performance is a bit less teary, at least from the men. Eliza, Angelica, and Maria all bring out that vulnerability and the sadness of their positions wonderfully – a great improvement in Maria’s case, for me. However, Burr’s The World Was Wide Enough severely downplays the sincere regret angle, while Hamilton never quite hits the right notes on It’s Quiet Uptown. However, Hurricane and Phillip’s performance in Blow You All Away definitely hit that fear and panic leading to self-destruction. (Interesting I guess that Burr doesn’t also seem more fearful in The World Was Wide Enough?) Is that also a gendered expectations thing, perhaps?

Either way, I’m extremely glad I was able to see it if only for Hamilton’s performance – honestly, maybe the reason it seemed to lose a lil steam was just that Hurricane was so good everything else failed to follow it, haha. Burr also absolutely fascinated me here, too, and that was so much fun to see play out in real time!

Hamilton will be coming to Melbourne next, and I’m not sure yet if I’ll be able to go there but I’d really like to! It’d be really fun to test out these expectations/conclusions of mine with a fresh viewing, as well as see any other new cast changes/interpretations…!

[justthehiddleswrites]

Unexpected Delivery | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  You are 37 weeks pregnant when Tom books a vacation to a secluded cabin in the mountains of Scotland. You are assured you won't go into labor while gone but after an intimate moment with Tom, your water breaks. You are snowed in and the ambulance won't get there in time. Tom must now deliver the baby.

Warnings: implied smut, labor and giving birth

-

“Honey, we could have just stayed at a nice posh hotel in London,” you grumbled as you attempted to get out of the car, “You know in civilization.”

Tom hustled around to help you out. At 37 weeks pregnant, you weren’t as spry as normal.

“Come on, darling. Where is your sense of adventure?” He threw you one of his lady killer smiles.

“Being sat on by your child along with my bladder, that’s were. I swear she is all limbs just like her father.”

Tom chuckled and helped you across the short path and up the stairs to the cabin. He leaned over so his head was next to your swollen stomach.

“Listen in there, be nice to your mother. She is working hard to keep you safe. And she has had to do it without your dad.”

This trip had been all Tom’s idea. For most of the pregnancy, Tom had been away filming in Thailand. This was not the first time Tom had been away for big events. Your sister’s wedding. Graduations and important work events. But having to attend ultrasounds and midwife appointments on your own hit you hard. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. You spent many nights crying into the phone to Tom and him reassuring you everything was fine and he would be there when it mattered.

It had been near Christmas when shooting finally wrapped. Tom had insisted on a baby moon before your due date. By then flying was off the table, so you two needed to pick somewhere within driving distance. You had suggested a posh hotel in London with a spa where you could be pampered. Tom, afraid of paparazzi, invading this precious time, chose a secluded cabin in Scotland.

“Are you sure we won’t get stuck up here?” you worried as a light dusting of snow started to cover the landscape. The doctor assured both of you at the last visit this baby wasn’t coming for at least two weeks, with your family’s history of overdue babies. But it did not make you worry any less. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. You did not want to have this baby in the mountains.

Tom kissed your forehead as he opened the front door.

“I checked the forecast, and only light snow. You have nothing to fear.”

You gave a weak smile, not convinced as you looked back and saw the snow beginning to cover the car.

About an hour later, Tom got a fire burning and a kettle going on the stove. The cabin was cozy. You shed your layers as you got inside. You were your own portable space heater these days. Tom brought over hot chocolate for you and hot tea for himself as the two of you settled underneath a thick quilt on the couch. You let out a sigh.

“It is cozy.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s not enough to make up for these past nine months, but now that filming is over, I intend to focus all my attention on you and this precious cargo.”

Tom rubbed his hand over your belly. You smiled and then winced as your stomach tightened.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

You rubbed the back of Tom’s hand.

“Just Braxton Hicks. They have getting worse over the last few weeks.”

Tom moved his hands to your shoulders and began to massage your tight shoulders. You let your head sink to your chest.

“That feels fantastic.”

Tom continued to work on the knots and move his hands to your back, kneading the space between your shoulder blades. You let a groan out.

“Darling, if you kept making such obscene noises, I will not be able to keep my hands to myself.”

Tom’s hands wandered to the front of your shirt, where he cupped your ample breasts. You let a chuckle go.

“Isn’t that what got us in this mess in the first place?”

Tom laughed as he turned you to take you into a deep embrace. His lips were soft but urgent. Both of your hands flew to his neck and hair, pulling him closer and deeper. God, you had missed him! Tom lowered you to the couch with a gentle hand, placing you on your side. However, you sat up and grabbed Tom’s arm.

“What?” he questioned as you tugged on him to follow.

“Honey, I am too big to have sex with you on a sofa. I saw a nice, big, and cozy king sized bed. Let’s do this right.”

Tom’s face lit up, and he grabbed both of your hands and dragged you to the bedroom. He had missed you as well! And his libido felt it too! The two of you didn’t even bother to shut the door before getting down to business.

***

After your lovemaking, the two of you fell asleep. You woke first and headed to the kitchen. The Braxton Hicks continued, and you winced with each contraction. Grabbing a coffee mug, you doubled over in pain, the mug crashing to the floor shattering.

“Tom!”

Your husband ran at the tone of your voice. He was panting as he found you on the floor. It was only then you noticed the wetness between your legs.

“Tom! My water broke. This baby is coming!” you panicked.

Tom’s eyes widened as he ran his hands through his hair. Still groggy from his slumber, he was trying to process everything happening. Shirtless, he rushed to the front door to start the car. The bitter cold hit his skin like needles and it dismayed him to see several feet of snow buried the car. There was no way he could dig it out in time!

“Tom!” you screamed as the contractions became more painful. “What is going on?”

“We’re snowed in!”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m sorry, darling. I will call an ambulance.” Tom replied, a shake in his voice.

By some miracle, he had reception. He dialed emergency and explained the situation. He gave them the address of the cabin. They told him to stay on the line until the paramedics could get there. Tom ran over to where you still lying on the ground. He helped you up to the armchair in the living area. You started to scream.

“Tom, I don’t think the baby can wait for an ambulance. She is ready to make her appearance sooner rather than later.”

You began to breathe like you learned in your birthing classes. Tom started yelling at the person on the phone in a panic.

“What do I do?!”

Tom listened intently to the voice on the line with a stern look on his face, nodding along with the instructions. He put the phone down and began to gather supplies: towels and blankets. He put the kettle on the stove and began boiling some water.

“Done. Now what?”

The color drained from Tom’s face as the operator told him the next step. He gulped and headed towards you.

He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. Sweat beaded across your forehead and the pain kept you from saying too much. Another contraction hit and you screamed.

“AAAHHHH!” you squeezed Tom’s hand hard and his knees buckled for a moment.

As the contraction subsided, Tom attempted to extract his hand from your grip but you just held on tighter. He placed his other hand on top of yours.

“I have to check your progress,” you looked at him in disbelief as you released his hand, “But not to worry, I’m a doctor.”

“That was for a movie, you idiot! I don’t want Dr. Laing to deliver this baby.”

His joke fell flat, and he refrained telling anymore for the rest of your labor. He pulled up your skirt and checked on your dilation. When his face came back into view, he looked ashen. He picked up the phone.

“The baby is crowning.”

You panicked.

“What?!” You felt a new sensation, “Tom! I want to push!”

Tom threw the phone down and returned to you.

“Not yet darling. No jokes. You are having this baby now. I will coach you through it. But you have to wait until I tell you push.”

You nodded your head. Tom placed a towel underneath your legs and grabbed some blankets to put beside him. You felt a contraction coming.

“All right, Y/N, Push!!”

You bore down and grunted.

“Three… Four…. doing great… Eight… Nine…”

At ten, you relaxed.

“Doing wonderfully,” Tom reassured as he massaged your knee. You felt another contraction coming on, “Here we go again. Push!”

You began to push again. Tom continued to encourage you. This continued for about three contractions. Tom looked up at you.

“All right, love. This last one should do it. I need to you push as hard as you can. You know you are tired, but you.. can.. do.. this.”

He looked up with his blue eyes filled with tears, pleading you to be strong for not just him but for your daughter you were about to meet. You nodded your head as you felt the contraction begin.

“PUSH!”

You pushed with all your might and before long you felt a release and moments later, you heard the cries of a baby. Tom worked to wrap the baby and placed her on your chest. The tears pricking his eyes.

“You did it! She is here. Meet our daughter.”

You started crying as you stared down at the tiny being you just gave birth to.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered as you kissed Tom softly on the lips.

“Just like her mother.” Tom beamed, “And I believe her name is going be…”

“Evelyn Rose.”

Tom seemed shocked.

“I thought you didn’t like the name Evelyn.”

“I changed my mind. Pregnant woman’s prerogative.”

Tom chuckled.

“Very well. Little Miss Evelyn Rose Hiddleston, welcome to the world.”

The two of you cooed over the baby until the paramedics showed up about twenty minutes later. They rushed to take care of you and the baby as they shuffled Tom to the perimeter. They transported all three of you to the hospital. Once you settled into a room, Tom joined you. You smiled at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey. This has been some day.”

You smiled.

“Now come on, where is your sense of adventure?”

Tom laughed.

“On the floor of that cabin when I delivered my daughter.”

“Oh, but think of the story.”

Tom winced. The papers would have a field day.

“True, but I was worried about you and Little Miss Evelyn here.”

He pointed to bassinet beside your bed where your child was sleeping for the moment.

“Well next time, let me pick where we stay and I will forgive you.”

The two of you laughed and Tom climbed into your bed to embrace you. Just as he settled Evelyn stirred and began to cry.

“Welcome to parenthood,” you said to Tom as you handed him a bottle, “Dad.”

Tom couldn’t argue that.

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story part III

Tony lied.

Which is to say, he didn’t lie because lying would imply that he knows for a fact that what he’s said isn’t true. Which he doesn’t. Just because Tony has Opinions™ on supes doesn’t mean he’s got friends -- or even half-way stable contacts really -- among them.

[You have to understand, supes do not tolerate outsiders any better than unenhanced people tolerate supes. And tolerate is already one of the highest possible achievements. To say that relations between the enhanced and unenhanced segments of society are strained would be a gross understatement.

And who can blame them? Either of them?]

[How dare they?]

So Tony honestly has no clue why supes avoid professional medical attention like criminals on the run no matter their alignment or security labeling. He can guess though. Oh boy can he guess.

[After all, there is no such thing as a naturally enhanced human.]

Long, bleak hallways, empty of life.

Acceptable failure [read: mortality] rates.

‘For the Greater Good.’

[What does it take to make a human? What does it take to improve the design?]

What do you do with a weapon you can’t neutralise once the war is over? 

Tony probably isn’t the first unenhanced to offer his services to the supe community. Certainly isn’t the first activist to fight for their rights, to criticize the status quo, to reach out and offer.

Maybe some of those other people meant well. Maybe some didn’t. Maybe some where accepted, maybe they weren’t. It doesn’t matter. Tony Stark has never been the type to sit and wait for others to find him. He’s never been the type to stop, simply because his efforts aren’t wanted. He’d never have gotten anywhere in life if he did.

So Tony stumbles upon the bloodied, motionless figure of the Winter Soldier -- clearly recognizable by the goggles and the metal arm, even with the blood everywhere and the ruined costume. And he drags him to his store, a small garage that may or may not have five more levels underneath it than any official plans would show. Really, the design would do any supervillain proud.

And Tony is nervousworriedexcited about his first, not-yet-conscious customer, but he isn’t stupid.

[Which is to say JARVIS politely reminds him.]

He doesn’t drag the Winter Soldier into the med section. Because the med section is for Tony’s own accidents that occur more often than the long-suffering JARVIS would like, the old spoilsport, but it’s also bright neon lights and surgically clean surfaces and disinfectant heavy in the air.

The workshop -- messy, messy, messy, oil smoke and fire-extinguishing foam everywhere -- it is.

There Tony sets about ridding the Winter Soldier of his ruined clothes -- hello, abs -- though the goggles stay firmly on once JARVIS’ scan confirms that there’s no serious damage on the guy’s face because Tony can politely respect a secret identity, okay, that’s a boundary if he ever heard one and he can totally respect that, no matter how curious it makes him, shut up JARVIS.

The supe’s wounds aren’t actually that bad, which brings Tony to the slightly uncomfortable realization that most of the blood on the guy isn’t his own. Yuck. Although that makes his job easier -- Tony might have plenty experience with first aid, but he’s really not that kind of doctor -- so Tony puts the matter out of his mind.

After having taken care of the wounds -- the deeper cuts are already knitting themselves together, so Tony doesn’t bother stitching those, just plasters his collection of Teletubby band-aids all over them and calls it a job well-done -- and covering the guy with a blanket -- though JARVIS reminds him to also leave sweatpants and a shirt within easy reach, just in case this guy isn’t running on the super-hot side of the temperature scale [there’s no question about his rating on the hot-ness scale, 10s all the way] or is shy or something, not that Tony really grasps the concept of shyness -- Tony focuses on the important thing.

Namely the metal arm.

Which is the coolest thing Tony has ever seen and his fingers are already twitching to reach out and make it better.

Now, Tony isn’t good with boundaries. He really, really isn’t, just ask JARVIS. 

[Asking Tony will get you nothing, safe perhaps for an incomprehensive stare and a “Of course I’m not stalking you, I was just curious and look, I got you a new TV and a better internet connection because that thing was a travesty and your landlord should be fired, now there’s an idea, hang on for a sec--” because he honestly doesn’t get it. People are so confusing and needlessly complicated sometimes.]

But even Tony gets that working on some guy’s arm while he’s unconscious and injured might be taking things a step too far. If only because JARVIS made him read all those articles on medical consent and patient confidentiality. Though that was, admittedly, for a very different reason.

[Tony doesn’t wonder whether the Winter Soldier lost his arm in an accident or whether it was decided that a literal inbuilt firearm would be more convenient. He doesn’t wonder whether anyone even asked the guy-- Nope, totally not going there.

He already knows the answer anyway.]

There’s no harm in taking a look at JARVIS’ scans while he makes himself a hot chocolate and waits for the guy to wake up though. The thought of a hot chocolate makes Tony wonder if his customer would appreciate one... if he has the grip precision to hold a cup with his metal hand without breaking it... if the sensors can be fine-tuned... if there could be heating pads inserted in his palm to warm a cup via hand... or burn an enemy... or--

Somehow that hot chocolate never does get made.

Instead, half an hour later, when JARVIS flashes code RED for the first time since Tony implemented his new and improved warning system, Tony is neck-deep in the design of a portable heating system strong enough to melt through an average safe door.

It’s more surprise than fear at seeing code RED in action that has Tony ducking, narrowly avoiding a metal wrench to the head, and grabbing the first two things he can get his hands on to defend himself.

Which ends up being an eraser and a open pack of marshmallows that were supposed to go into his never made hot chocolate. Wonderful.

Tony hesitantly stares up at the Winter Soldier in all his half-naked, very much armed glory -- where the fuck did he hide that knife?!? -- carefully edging away to put a table between himself and the possibly confused supe. JARVIS doesn’t say a word, but Tony doesn’t have to glance at the flashing screen to know his overprotective AI wants him to enact Protocol SKYNET For The Win. Which-- Tony never would meet any interesting people if he let JARVIS bully him into activating his idea of appropriate protection every time he encountered a tiny set-back.

So.

“Want some marshmallows?”

*

This ‘verse is not getting out of control, whatever gave you that idea?